


Damned If You Do

by LadyLuckDoubt



Category: Bully: Scholarship Edition
Genre: Bullworth, Canis Canem Edit, Canon Compliant, Epic, High School, Multi, Rivalry, Video & Computer Games, minor characters - Freeform, multi-cast, multi-chapter, work-in-progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-02
Updated: 2011-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLuckDoubt/pseuds/LadyLuckDoubt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything else that happened in Bullworth Academy around the rise and fall and rise of Jimmy Hopkins. The politics, the relationships made and broken, friendships, alliances and neurosis; a screwed up world where adults can't always be trusted, and where kids can be their own worst enemies.</p><p>The Nerds, the Preps, the Jocks, the Townies and the Greasers-- and the individuals all come together here as part of a whole and huge story where everyone is growing up, figuring out themselves, and being puppeteered by power-mongers and the system itself.</p><p>WARNINGS for a number of things; including mentions of suicide, abuse and generalised bastardry. It's a pretty dark game, when you think about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Occuring just after Jimmy has left the common room in the boys' dormitory to help Bucky out in Save Bucky; this was my attempt at novelising _Bully_ and explaining what happened around Jimmy's leading role in the game.
> 
> Much thanks goes out to the members of the Bully_BL community on LJ, and, of course, to the wonderful JaneGodzilla, who betaed for me for the first third of the story.

Constantinos Brakus stood at the doorway of the common room, his weedy frame stretched out against the foundations of the archway like he was a gangly, ominous spider. He stared into the empty room with his usual bitter contempt, watching the space on the couch where Petey the Pussy-- and Hopkins-- fuckin’ do-gooder-- and Gary Smith-- had been gathered around moments earlier. Hopkins had taken off abruptly-- Gary had no doubt talked him into something when Algernon showed up-- Peter had hung around until finally Gary’s pokes and prods annoyed him to the point of walking away in frustration, as though he’d given up on watching the swimming uninterrupted. And Gary had slunk off, a sly grin on his face and an eyebrow raised to Constantinos, as if that was all they needed between them. It was.

He didn’t know what to think. Part of him was looking forward to whatever went down next, whatever stupid psychodramatic trip Gary was about to take them on-- and part of him was relieved. He could watch without being a part of it for once, in the same way as he watched everything else that happened around Bullworth Academy. The reporter in him was satisfied. The rest of him felt utterly empty and drenched in self-loathing. 

 

 _“What’s wrong with you? Gonna slit your wrists, are you?” Gary sounded so fucking casual about it, like he was one of the fuckin’ jocks, asking one of the guys if he was up for the big game next weekend._

 _Constantinos studied him with narrowed eyebrows. He didn’t trust Smith at all-- the rumours about him spoke volumes on his sociopathy-- but he wasn’t afraid of him, either. And if he was, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let him know about it._

 _“Maybe. What’s it to you?”_

 _“Just sayin’, Con...if you’re gonna do something, you might as well do it properly. Go out in a blaze of glory. I mean what’s everyone gonna say-- ‘That pussy Con offed himself...’ Or would you rather think about them screaming and running around for their pathetic little lives as the school goes up in flames?”_

 _The expression on Con’s face changed. Gary was one sick fuck, but strangely compelling. And there was a glint of something in his dark eyes-- not quite hope, not really passion-- but something._

 _“Why do you care?”_

 _Gary stretched out and put an arm over his shoulder. “Oh, Constantinos,” he drawled, his voice lingering on the last syllable, “You and I pretty much have the same dismal faith in the world and towards most of the morons in this place. You don’t think they should be spared, do you?”_

 _Still uncertain, Constantinos moved away from Gary, letting his hand fall back to his side. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?” he asked sharply._

 _“No.”_

 _“Well if you’re so big on the idea, why don’t you do it? Save me the effort.”_

 _Gary fell silent. Constantinos resisted the urge to smirk—he had made a decent point, hadn’t he?_

 _Gary’s gaze fell down to the notebook in Con’s hand and he raised a crooked eyebrow._

 _“What’s that?”_

 _“A notebook.” Constantinos shrugged again._

 _“You write for that stupid school paper thing, don’t you?”_

 _“I expose the bleak truths of this foundation and the stupidity within,” he said. Well, there was that and the anonymous poetry. And being a journalist meant getting to interview the socially elite on current school happenings, which had the added bonus of getting to legitimately talk to Pinky Gaulthier. Not that he’d have told Gary about that._

 _Gary nodded, smiling. “I like your style,” he said. He glanced down at the notebook again. “I’ll make sure I read that paper next time it’s out.”_

 _“Don’t hold your breath,” Con said glumly, “The majority of it’s bullshit.”_

 _“Yeah, I’d expect that much from a place like this.” He watched a group of nerds walk past. “Losers.”_

 _Constantinos shrugged. The nerds were losers, but no more so than anyone else in the school. Except Pinky. And maybe, sometimes, himself-- but who gave a shit? Pinky was going out with Derby-- and he had what he needed to not be a loser-- money and social standing._

 _In his first year, Constantinos had watched the Preps with a vicious kind of envy. He’d even tried joining the boxing club-- but two embarrassing seconds in the ring later-- as well as concussion and a heavily bruised ego, he had walked away, defeated._

 _The paper, he reasoned, was social standing without the brutality of the boxing ring. Sure, it wasn’t glamorous, but ten years down the track he wouldn’t have brain damage and a broken nose from writing, would he? Not that it would matter at all, but he’d have the smug satisfaction of watching Derby and friends look like shit while he was relatively unscathed, wouldn’t he?_

 _“You shrug at everything,” Gary noted._

 _“Why should I give a shit? Why should anyone else give a shit what I think about them?” He resisted the urge to shrug again._

 _“You’re the one who writes for the school paper. Maybe you really do give a shit what people think.” Gary smirked._

 _Constantinos didn’t shrug away, but flinched slightly, nervous. In all the years he’d been at Bullworth, no one had really talked to him. He was the weird skinny kid with the long name who kept to himself and wrote a lot, not someone loathed and laughed at by the mass population, but viewed with a kind of suspicion as though there was something Very Wrong with him. He was a loser, but unlike them, he realised it. Their avoidance neither bothered nor surprised him._

 _And now, on this perfectly random afternoon, here was Gary, school psychopath, sharing plans to destroy the school and its occupants, and showing an interest in his writing._

 _“Maybe I want to know why you care so much about what I think,” Con said smoothly. “You’ve been at this school as long as I have, and this is the first time you’ve bothered talking to me.”_

 _“I can always go away if you want,” Gary said with a careless shrug._

 _“Fine.” Constantinos shrugged, watching as Gary sidled away._

 _“I have shit to do,” he said, offering no more of an explanation, “I’ll see you around, Con. Or read you in the paper. Or something.”_

 

 

And that was how it started.

  


It hadn’t been that long ago. But things had changed, and so had they-- and Constantinos now looked at Gary-- even the space where he’d been standing- with angry revulsion.  _Fuck you, Smith._

The common room was empty, but he didn’t want to stay in there anyway. No sooner would he sit down and try to watch some pathetic garbage on TV and the room would become filled with the sounds and movement of scuffles amongst other students or some inane conversation about Grottos and Gremlins, or a window would shatter nearby. There was no respite from this crap. Better to head back to his room and write in peace and quiet. Failing that, there was always the prospect of going through Cornelius’ stuff and seeing if his roommate had received another package in the mail. That kid always had something worth stealing.

Lunchtime. Jimmy was still trying to work out how the social dynamics in the school actually worked, but one thing was already painfully clear about Bullworth-- fruit appeared to be the only edible foodstuff in the cafeteria.   
The smells coming from the kitchen were unappealing at best, and the visuals he got from watching Edna, the middle-aged, surly cook-- spluttering and smoking around the preparation areas-- hardly made any cooked meal seem appealing. Gary and Petey took the same view.

“Not eating lunch today, Little Petey?” Gary bit down into his apple and stared at his pink-shirted associate.  
“No.” Petey gingerly reached across the table for the fruit bowl and grabbed a depressingly brown banana, which he studied carefully before unpeeling. “Last time I did that, I was in the sickbay.”

Gary snorted. “Oooh… Poor Petey and his sensitive little digestive system. I forgot about that.”

“Give me a break, Gary, I’m allergic to MSG.”

Gary finished his bite of apple and snorted again. “I think MSG is the least of your worries, FemmeBoy. I’d be more worried about salmonella.” He glanced over at Jimmy, who was chewing on an apple. “See, Jimmy, that’s how you know we’re good friends. Normally we’d encourage the new kid to sample some of Edna’s gastronomic delights.”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “That’s friendly.”

“Lighten up, Hopkins… it’s all a bit of fun. And generally they get immune to whatever’s in that food after awhile. It toughens you up. It’s character-building food. Isn’t that right, Pete?”

Pete mumbled into his mouthful of banana.

“What was that, Petey? You know it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.” His smile changed to something almost conspiratorial and he raised a crooked eyebrow. 

“I said, except for that kid who nearly  _died_  from it last year.” Pete muttered quietly.

“Pah. That’s a load of crap. All rumours.” He shrugged. “Anyway, our new friend Jimmy here seems to have caught on about this whole food thing.” He smiled broadly and then turned back to Petey with an odd expression, one which suggested that he was trying to look friendly but seemed distinctly paranoid. “You haven’t been talking to him, have you?”

  
“Nuh-uh... no...” What the hell was Gary thinking? He’d barely had a chance to say two words to Jimmy, and there was seldom a moment when he was alone anyway. And even if he did want to talk to Jimmy, Gary was irritatingly by his side. He wasn’t sure if he felt concerned or rejected by Gary’s fascination with the new guy.

  
Gary smiled again, relaxed, reaching over the table and mussing up Petey’s hair. A gesture which might have looked playful and affectionate, but which appeared to be more about a display of power.   
“Good,” he said with a chuckle, “Wouldn’t want you scaring the new kid, would I?”

  
Watching the whole scenario, Jimmy now felt strangely out of place, as though he was being included out of… pity, maybe-- rather than any true desire for friendship. It was barely his first week here, and these were the only two people he’d really spoken to-- because answering back to the bullies didn’t really count, did it? He looked helplessly around the cafeteria for what might have been another group of people he could have sat with instead.

The nerds were insufferable. Their Grottos and Gremlins models were scattered in front of them, even while they ate whatever disgusting “mystery meal” Edna had dished up, and they seemed oblivious to both the taste and smell of what they were eating, as well as their general demeanour. It was almost nauseating watching them do lunch, talking with mouths full, spraying bits of unidentifiable foodstuffs around them, and discussing something either horribly boring, utterly confusing-- or completely inappropriate-- at least ten decibels louder than everyone else.

The jocks weren’t much better. They were loud and boorish, and their conversation consisted largely of sporting stories-- one touchdown was pretty much the same as another, Jimmy felt-- or grunts. They had a cocky, look-at-me air about them which was thoroughly aggravating. No one else dared approach them, of course, and they were aware of their exalted status, like they existed in another reality impenetrable by the common population at Bullworth. Though every now and then they’d watch someone walk past and see fit to offer commentary, as though they really saw the school for the zoo that it actually was. But they failed to realise that they were a part of it as well.

Jimmy cast his gaze across the cafeteria. The preps-- haughty and removed-- were at least a bit quieter, unless they were making comments about the riff raff that were accepted into the school and they wished to be overheard. They were all airy, vacant expressions and posturing. And even if they weren’t completely intolerable at the moment, Jimmy knew they’d certainly become that way if he dared approach them. 

And then there were the greasers. Of all the factions in the school, Jimmy suspected that if any of them were likely to accept him, it was probably going to be these guys. They weren’t particularly loud or obnoxious, but it was far too early to just approach them-- and he wasn’t completely sure he wanted to. And anyway, they looked far too busy for newcomers-- they were debating the merits and fallbacks of the latest BMXs to come into the autoshop-- with the exception of Johnny, who seemed deeply in some level of conversation-- even if there was minimal discussion on his part-- with his girlfriend.

He looked around, noticing a few stragglers not really sitting anywhere. The little kids, who hadn’t quite joined any of the cliques, pairs of girls; Eunice-- who everyone seemed to avoid-- and who Jimmy hoped to continue avoiding after that incident on the first day; Russell-- who just about everyone was terrified of; and that weedy-looking kid who wrote for the paper and who acted like the world existed solely to ruin his life.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Jimmy?” Gary poked him hard on the shoulder. “That Constantinos kid? Man, I hate that guy more than the nerds.”  
Petey looked vaguely uncomfortable and nibbled at his banana, eyes darting away from both Gary and Jimmy.  
“Yeah. What the hell’s his problem, anyway?”  
“He’s that guy who could find a downside to everything. He’s not exactly the type of person you’d want to hang around.”  
“I dunno,” said Jimmy, “Maybe he’s just practical. I mean, it’s not exactly hard to see the downside of being here. Or just not be able to see much of an upside.”  
Gary snorted again, and flicked Pete on the shoulder. “Grab us another apple, FemmeBoy.”  
Jimmy saw Pete look down at the half-eaten apple in Gary’s hand-- but he reached into the fruitbowl and grabbed another one and passed it over anyway.

“See, this is where you’re wrong, Jimmy. There is  _always_  an upside to a situation. You just lack creativity.” He tossed the apple in his hand, looking thoughtful. “It’s the mark of a pessimist-- or someone completely  _boring_ \-- to not see the potential for fun in any kind of situation.”

Not quite catching on, Jimmy looked at him blankly. Petey had shrunk away slightly, as though waiting for some kind of attack. 

“Comprende?” Gary smirked, before casting his gaze in the same direction Jimmy had, and casually pelting the apple at Constantinos, striking him on the shoulder. He snickered as Constantinos jumped with the sudden impact and looked behind him, visibly surprised and annoyed.

“Gary… what’d you do that for?” Petey asked, as the Jocks had cottoned on to what was happening and someone had yelled the unholy war cry-- “Food fight!”

Gary shrugged, his smile growing as he watched the cafeteria descend into madness.

“Simple. I don’t like pessimists.”

It could have been anyone who’d thrown the apple, but Constantinos knew. The direction it came from didn’t matter, and he barely noticed the other projectiles flying around him-- it was that lone hard apple which started it all and which could have only come from… Gary. Either Smith himself, or that new kid he’d talked into it.

Gary was very good at that.

  
The prefects stumbled in, amidst flying food and screams, trying to control the area. It was hellish madness, but Constantinos didn’t care-- he stood up, grabbed his notebook, and headed upstairs, one final gaze towards where Gary and his cronies had been sitting-- they’d already left-- and walked out. A banana skin slapped against the back of his shoe as he left the cafeteria. He barely noticed.

  
“So...” asked Jimmy back in the common room, “What next? What are you going to show me now?”

Pete was tempted to roll his eyes. The two of them sounded like those greasers on about their bikes: it was boys’ talk, not really his thing, and probably not a conversation he was meant to be involved in. But they did it anyway. Jimmy tried to maintain a cool and indifferent façade, and here was Gary acting like he had a new protégé. It was sickening.

Gary stretched on the couch and cracked his knuckles. “All in good time, Hopkins,” he sniffed. “Me and Petey need some alone time.”

“Hey, what’s so important that you don’t want me in on?” Jimmy looked defensive. “I thought you wanted to be friends, Gary.”

“I do-- and a good friend would want you to get your homework done for English.” He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t, after all, want to be expelled from, oh, what-- a seventh school? I suppose they’d be running out of boarding schools… and ones that would take you with that sort of track record.” He smiled. Not in a particularly friendly manner, but in a way that suggested victory. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jimmy shrugged. It was all bullshit-- Galloway let everyone help one another with assignments anyway, and he knew he could always ask Angie for assistance if his grade in the subject was in jeopardy. But this was an opportunity to get away from Gary-- and Petey-- for awhile. 

“See you guys later-- I should get down to the library.”

“Yeah, good thinking. Keep an eye out for those prefects.” Gary smiled broadly.

“See ya, Jimmy.” Pete raised his hand as though to wave but stopped, looking back to Gary. 

They stopped to turn around behind them as a fight erupted in the doorway. Who started it? Probably the bullies- Thad was helplessly flailing around as Trent and Tom laid into him and Davis darted around with his beloved yardstick. It was all kind of pathetic.

“Knock it off,” Gary said dryly. “Can’t you lot go do that somewhere else?”

Davis narrowed his eyebrows and reluctantly handed Thad’s yardstick back before rushing down the hall with the other two.

“Thanks, Gary.”

“I wasn’t doing that because I give a shit about you,” Gary sneered. “I just like my peace and quiet.”

Thad looked down at Pete. What the hell was it with those two-- Gary, one of the louder, meaner kids in the school, hanging around Pete, who was nearly as small as some of the little kids? 

“Well, thanks anyway.”

“Get lost,” Gary hissed, “Or I’ll find some someplace else to stick that yardstick.” 

Thad yelped nervously and scurried towards his room.

  
“So what now, Petey? It’s just you and me, like old times… no new kid hanging around, no losers causing any fights… what shall we do?”

Pete looked at Gary quizzically. “I dunno, Gary.”

“Maybe we should go out somewhere. A night on the town. What do you say to that, Petey?”

He didn’t say anything. Rumours stated that one of Gary’s previous outings had involved a fight with some Townie kids, setting letterboxes on fire, somehow getting into one of the adult shops and having a look, and being dragged back to Bullworth by a very pissed-off police officer.

“You think that’s a good idea?” Pete asked nervously. 

“Well duh. I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.”

“Well… okay, Gary… but provided you don’t get us in trouble.”

“Relax!” He mussed up Pete’s hair again. “You worry too much about things-- we’ll have a nice night out.” He looked thoughtfully out the window. “Apparently the carnival is in town... Wanna go laugh at some freaks?”

“As long as we don’t get in trouble.”

“Relax. We aren’t going to get in trouble.”

Billy Crane’s Travelling Carnival was a sight to behold from a distance. The glittering lights of the Ferris wheel against the twilight sky, like an organised, multi-colour constellation; the vivid colours of tent-tops, and the intricate framework of the Big Canyon Railway made its appeal easily understandable. But up closer, it was neither as exciting nor as beautiful, and as Gary paid their entrance, Pete started having second thoughts.

“What’s wrong, Petey?” Gary glanced up at the signage indicating the various attractions. “Don’t know where to go first?”

“You sure we’re allowed to be out here?”

“Relax… everyone else is.” He shrugged, indicating a group of preps near a cotton candy stall. “Only we’re gonna have more fun than  _them_.” He snorted, looking up at the Railway.

 _Please don’t let him suggest cutting through one of the scaffolds,_  Pete silently prayed, though he wondered how Gary would accomplish such a feat. That said, Pete knew that if Gary wanted to do something, very little could actually stop him. There was something admirable-- and terrifying-- about that concept.

“How ‘bout we go on some rides?”

Pete shrugged. In his panic about Gary’s imagined sabotage, he’d forgotten a more real and immediate fear-- acrophobia. But letting Gary in on that secret was something akin to suicide.

“Uh… okay.”

“Aw, look, Petey… a Ferris wheel. How romantic.” Gary’s voice was laced with sarcasm, but he seemed interested. “Wanna go for a ride?”

“Yeah. Sure. Why not?” Pete’s fists were clenched and he tried to maintain a look of unaffected calm on his face. 

“You don’t seem that enthusiastic.”

“I am, Gary, really…”

They waited in line quietly, every so often Gary offering commentary about the others around them.

“Oh, look at that,” he sniffed derisively, “Derby and Pinky… don’t they make the  _perfect_ couple?”

Pete raised an eyebrow. The way Derby usually looked when surrounded by the other preps suggested that his romantic notions concerned any of  _them_  rather than Pinky, and the locker room gossip suggested just as much, too. Though tonight, they looked happy enough together, holding hands and pointing out things around them which grabbed their attention. Derby, for once, didn’t look stiff and poised, but relaxed-—as though he was actually enjoying himself. 

“And...”-- Gary guffawed- “Is that... Trent and  _Cornelius_?” 

Pete craned his neck to see. “Yeah.”

“What the hell else would Trent be doing other than the obvious with  _him_?” His eyes sparkled with malice. “Hey! Trent!” 

Trent, having heard his name called from  _some_  direction, looked up, panic-stricken. Cornelius appeared oblivious.

“Geez,” scoffed Gary, “He’s out and about with the biggest flamer in the entire school. You heard about Cornelius playing Juliet in the school play last year, huh Petey?”

Pete chuckled softly.

“You know, Gary, when we’re together like this, people probably could be thinking the same thing about us,” he said quietly.

The queue moved forwards.

“Yeah? They  _could_ , couldn’t they?” He sounded angry, but there was a note of amusement in his voice. “ _What_  would they say about us, Petey? That Gary Smith likes to suck cock?” He snorted again. “I don’t think so.”

 _Of course not,_  Pete thought bitterly.  _They’d think I’m Gary’s bitch._

His gaze drifted back to Trent and Cornelius. “Still…Trent…” Gary sounded almost philosophical. “Wouldn’t have picked him…would you?”

Pete didn’t say anything. Word got around that Trent swung both ways. Pete probably had a better idea than anyone else-- Trent  _had_  been awfully friendly to him a few months ago, but Pete... wasn’t sure what he was. He still wasn’t, either-- he knew he _liked_  girls, but there was this weird situation with Gary and him-- and yet he didn’t really have the desire to get it on with any of the other guys in the school, did he? No. Not really. Some of the preps were all-right-looking, but they were a bunch of snobs; the greasers were totally not gay-- and they were kind of over-the-top hilarious-- and Petey knew that the jocks would have killed anyone at the mere suggestion any of them was like  _that_. 

“I dunno.” He shrugged. 

The line shifted forwards some more, and Gary and Pete watched as the Ferris wheel started taking on board the people in front of them.

“Um, Gary, I dunno about this... I probably should have gone to the bathroom.”

“You can go afterwards,” said Gary airily. “It’s not like they let you on these things for very long, anyway. They’re just out to rip everyone off.”

“So why go?”

“Because, Little Petey, it’ll be fun. Just you and me and the view and the night sky and all those pussies underneath us freaking out about being up a few miles off the ground.”

The way Gary spoke, he sounded close to sentimental. And as though he were expecting more of him than to be scared of the height. Maybe he really didn’t know he was afraid. “I wonder if Cornelius will shriek like a girl and cling to Trent?”

Pete stepped up at the next empty seat on the Ferris wheel swung towards them and stepped on. He wasn’t going to scream… or freak out… or puke. No way.

From the ground, watching their ascent, Constantinos stood with a hard glare on his face. He’d come here not because he particularly enjoyed the carnival, but to get away from the school, to pointedly  _avoid certain people_ , and now they were—albeit unwittingly—staring back at him.   
And what the hell was Petey doing here? Petey was a wimp. Petey didn’t go on Ferris wheels. He didn’t have it in him. He was a wimp, a pussy, kind of pathetic, really; he chewed his nails and whined like a little kid and had that constantly defeated look on his face all the damned time. And he hadn’t seen Gary looking so fucking happy like that, either. 

It was perfectly fitting that Gary would be now  _hanging out_  with a loser like that. 

He hoped that the Ferris wheel broke down, and left them suspended like that in the air forever. And that Petey pissed his pants.


	2. Chapter 2

Jimmy had been fortunate. Sure, the door to the room didn’t shut properly, the draft blowing in at night was horrible, and there were times he had to ask people to get the hell out- but on the whole, he counted himself lucky. At least he  _had_  his own room. 

“You know, the reason you get a room to yourself is because that room was leaking last year,” Gary said with a smirk. “When it rained around here, the pipes would leak and seep into the plasterwork in the walls. And then they found out that it wasn’t just  _those_  pipes. The sewerage pipes are ancient, too. And people started complaining about the smell in here.” He sniffed, a smug, knowing look on his face. “Of course, it was only the nerds in here so everyone thought it was just their poor personal hygiene-- but then one of them threatened to call out the Surgeon General and it turned out that there was  _shit_  seeping into the walls.”

“Shut up, Gary. That’s bullshit.” Jimmy looked unimpressed. He eyed Pete, who was sitting on the end of his bed, looking down at the threadbare blankets, the expression on his face suggesting he’d have rather been doing something else. 

Gary continued. “Well, they fixed up what they  _had to_ , but as you can see, it still looks pretty awful and it doesn’t smell great, does it?”

Jimmy shrugged.

“It was asbestos,” Ray said matter-of-factly. He was walking down the corridor and had overheard the snippet of conversation, bringing himself in without really acknowledging Pete or Gary in Jimmy’s room. “Gary’s partially correct-- they did have to change some of the pipes due to them wearing down with age-- but the reason your room was vacated for so long was that it was actually illegal for the school to allow anyone to stay in there. Believe it or not, they did replace some of the plaster.”

Gary winced. “Who asked you?”

Ray looked nervous. “No one... I just thought...”

“Why do you think any of us would be interested in anything you would have to say?”

But Jimmy was marginally interested. At least it put Gary in his place and put to rest any concerns he might have had about his walls harbouring shit. Or a pipe bursting above his head in the middle of the night when someone in the rooms above him flushed a toilet. 

  
Ray looked crestfallen. He was used to remembering such facts and being  _helpful_ \-- and being appreciated for such help-- rather than being treated with contempt. But that was Gary for you. 

  
No one said anything. Jimmy wasn’t sure whether he should-- he didn’t want it to look like he was offering Ray any encouragement-- encouragement would mean more invitations to join in that Grottos and Gremlins game Donald was running, and Jimmy didn’t feel that pessimistic about his social status at Bullworth just yet. Instead, he shot Ray a sympathetic look and a mumbled, “Thanks, Ray.”

“Oh-- Jimmy? I was going to ask, too-- we’re starting a new game next week and were wondering if you’d be interested in playing.”

“I’m not really into Grottos and Gremlins,” Jimmy said, already wishing he hadn’t acknowledged Ray.

“Oh. Okay.” He gave him a nod and stepped back. “Anyway, if you change your mind, go see Fatty or Melvin about getting your character set up real quick. Every time we start a new game, we seem to have an overabundance of Rangers.” 

Jimmy nodded as Ray headed out.

“Why do you put up with that crap?” Gary asked with a groan, “I didn’t know you were such a lame-o, Hopkins.”

Jimmy shrugged. “He might be kind of pathetic, but at least he’s not a complete asshole.”

Gary nodded. “Oh. Right. The bullies. We can handle them easy enough. The key’s just getting them at the right time and going from there. They’re all kind of pathetic.”

He turned to Pete, who’d moved along the end of the bed, and was looking dimly at the books on Jimmy’s desk. 

“We saw Northwick at the carnival with Cornelius the other evening. They went on the  _Ferris wheel. Together_.” 

“So?” Jimmy shrugged.

Gary tried again. “We all know that Cornelius is a total fag, but Northwick-- I’m surprised. I wonder what Russell would say if he knew?” He smiled gleefully. “Someone could go inform him and watch them destroy one another from the inside.”

Jimmy raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “You know, I don’t think Russell would give a shit what anyone got up to so long as he got to beat the crap out of someone at the end of it.”

Pete, who appeared to have not been listening, nodded. “I think you’re right, Jimmy,” he said. “Sorry, Gary-- you know what he’s like.”

It was getting late. Jimmy looked at the alarm clock next to the bed. “Don’t you guys have homework to do?” he asked.

“I do,” said Pete softly, “At this rate I’m gonna fail Chemistry.”

“You and your chemistry,” Gary groaned. And then in falsetto-- “Oh, I can’t fail Chemistry... help me with this homework, Gary... I think I’m gonna flunk Shop, Gary...” His voice dropped to its regular dry tone. “Honestly, Petey, dunno why I worry about you sometimes.”

“Gary, I’m sorry… I really have to do it.”

Gary sniffed. “Well, come on then. S’ppose I can give you a hand.”

He stood up, and Jimmy felt grateful. They were leaving. And the more he hung around these two, the more he became aware that there was something odd between the two of them, something dark and unspoken and distinctly unnerving. 

“Seeya, Hopkins.”

“Yeah. Bye, Jimmy.” 

Constantinos was flying. The Around The World Ferris wheel was so far beneath him that it was just a blip on a map, the stars surrounded him and Pinky was a glorious constellation next to him. 

He didn’t know how he came to be flying, how Pinky came to be there next to him, how the night air felt so warm in the middle of autumn, nor how he felt so free and empty. 

Then there came a laugh-- a dry, derisive cackle. 

“Whatcha think you’re doing up  _there_ , Brakus, you loser?”

And he started falling, as though someone was roughly pulling him down to Earth-- or to depths beyond it. The stars trailed on in long white strings as he fell, the Ferris wheel grew closer and Gary’s laugh intensified until it was deafening. He stomach churned violently, and he felt as though he was going to throw up. The darkness around him grew, and the muffled sounds of the carnival, of human mumbling and machinery whirring and carnies shouting and disjointed circus organ music moved beneath him almost to the point of it being inaudible underneath the caustic laughter.

  
He didn’t quite hit the ground, but the shock of falling-- and feeling himself fall so slowly-- was nauseating.

And Constantinos woke up with a scream.

“Are you okay?”

There was a moment of confusion as he realised where he was.

Ivan switched on the light between their beds. “You sure you’re okay, man?”

Constantinos shook himself awake in the soft yellow glow. “Yeah, I’m fan-fucking-tabulous. What’s wrong with you?”

“I was woken up by someone next to me screaming.”

Constantinos eyed the bed to the other side of Ivan’s, where Cornelius lay, curled up in fetal position, snoring softly. “Him?”

“No, dumbass, you. You know, that’s the third time I’ve seen you do that. Normally I’d suggest deeply rooted psychological problems.” He didn’t sound amused or overly bothered. “I could give you the number of a good therapist.”

Constantinos snorted. “Therapy’s for optimists,” he said dully. “I fail to see the point in me doing therapy.”

Ivan shrugged. “Maybe you have a point there. You really should try to change your outlook.” Ivan looked scarily awake for someone at... what time was it?-- 2:38.

“Sorry I woke you up, man.”

“Nah, forget it. I sleep during the day.”

Not that he was particularly interested, but more because it was a relief not having someone laughing at him for waking up screaming, Constantinos nodded and at least feigned an interest in what his roommate was saying.

“I can sleep with my eyes open, you know.”

“Yeah? That must be good in English.”

“Galloway’s half tanked when he starts class anyway, so it doesn’t really make a difference.” He shrugged.

Ivan wasn’t such a bad guy. He was another reporter for the school newspaper and yearbook, and while he wasn’t what Constantinos would have called a friend, he had enough respect for him to not steal from his belongings. He could have had worse roommates. Hell, six months ago-- he had.

“You gonna go back to sleep?”

“I guess.” He reached over and flicked the light off. 

“’Night, man.”

“Yeah. ‘Night.”

  
“Morning, Little Petey.” Gary didn’t sound like he’d just woken up. It was more like he’d been awake for some time, and he probably had, because his voice had that cool casual lilt to it. It was far too calm and smooth for someone who’d just woken, Pete thought.

Morning? People said that as a means of shortening “ _Good_  morning,” and what was so  _good_  about  _this_  morning? He blinked-- Gary was in his bed again, looking perfectly at home. Shit. He shifted uncomfortably away from him—this was the fourth time he’d snuck in there like that, the fourth morning Pete had woken up with Gary’s not-quite warmth next to him. He wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not. On one level, there was a strange comfort in lying next to someone else—particularly as the months grew colder—and it almost said something for Gary’s moral standing. Not once had anything remotely sexual happened between them. Not that Gary would find him attractive, anyway. Not that Gary was even remotely interested in boys. 

  
Pete stretched in a state of near-enough awake and opened his eyes, purposely avoiding Gary’s. The bed was warm but the room felt cold-- someone had left the window open the night before and the hazy autumn sky outside looked every bit as bleary and miserable as what surrounded him inside. 

It was a mess. Casey and Bo left their shit everywhere, and it tended to dominate the space as though it were a jock dormitory rather than merely occupied by two of them. Gary left his shit everywhere, as well as various  _souvenirs_  he’d acquired from the local township and managed to convince people to bring back to Bullworth for him. A traffic cone here, a condemned building sign there, half a mannequin from one of the clothes shops in the corner. The unnaturally long skinny legs looked macabre amongst all the rest of the mess-- they seemed more disturbingly adult than anything else around here, and Pete blinked at the sight of them when they’d first shown up. He was used to them now, as he was used to the rest of Gary’s bordering-on-insanity.

“Morning, Gary.” He could feel Gary’s hand resting over his shoulders. This wasn’t a  _gay thing_ , Gary was a naturally tactile person, right? But the jocks didn’t know Gary so well and probably wouldn’t accept that explanation. Pete got out of the bed quickly, leaving Gary lying there like some kind of reptile sunning itself in nearby warmth.

“Relax, Petey-- the ‘roids are asleep. They don’t know about anything.” He said it so smoothly, so sly-- like he didn’t care if the Jocks knew they’d been lying there together.

A quick glance at the other side of the room-- Bo and Casey  _were_  still asleep-- proved that Gary was right. But still… they’d wake up at some time.

“It’s not that, Gary… I have stuff to do.” An excuse. Any excuse. 

  
Gary jerked awake, suddenly far less easygoing. “What sort of  _stuff_?” he asked. Definitely awake now, he threw the covers back and turned to Pete. “You practising for  _track team tryouts_ , are you? Or would you be thinking about joining the  _cheer squad_?”

“Shut up, Gary.” Pete flinched away from him and walked over to the window, snapping it shut with a creak and a thud. “I need to go have a shower.”

Gary looked as though he was considering the concept, his gaze not moving from Pete-- Pete and his stupid ugly pyjamas with the rockets on them. It was as though he found them extremely amusing, and his attention made Pete feel ridiculously self-conscious, as though he was being silently laughed at. 

“I suppose you do, Little Petey. You have Art this morning,, don’t you? Don’t want to sit in Ms. Phillips’ class getting all hot and bothered and smelling of  _sex_ , do you?” His eyes sparkled with a smug kind of triumph. Pete glowed an intense shade of beetroot. He always did when Gary talked about things like that. It was as though something was implied—as though he could somehow read his mind and know what  _might_  have been running through it. 

“I’ll see you at breakfast, Gary.” He walked towards the door, reaching for his dressing gown. Gary continued watching him. It was creepy how he did that, but what was Pete to do? Ask him to knock it off? He was, after all, in Pete’s  _bed_ , and those damned jocks would tell the whole school about that if they got word of it. 

Clear of Gary’s reach, he quickly added “Don’t forget to take your meds,” as he dashed off towards the bathroom.

Gary didn’t go to class. As it had turned out, he wasn’t welcome at most of them-- a blowtorch aimed at the head of a classmate meant he never had to set foot inside the auto shop again; theft of various chemicals had made Dr. Watts gladly see the back of him in Chemistry; even Dr. Slawter found his presence disturbing—and failed to say anything when he stopped showing up for biology. And Art? Pfft… who needed Art? He occasionally cruised by the English classroom to torment Galloway if he was particularly bored, but in general, the confines of the school curriculum did little to stimulate his mind. He watched as Pete and Jimmy wandered out of the cafeteria and upstairs to class, and sat musing over the half-eaten apple in his hand. What to do today? Any number of things, all of which could be accomplished once getting off the school grounds. 

One of the prefects-- he couldn’t remember their names-- stepped in, and noted that he was the last student in there after the bell had rung. 

“Heading off to class, Smith?”

“Maybe,” Gary replied casually. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m a prefect. It’s my job to make sure the Bullworth order is maintained.”

“Really?” Stretching his legs under the table and giving no indication of moving, Gary smirked. “Your  _job_ , is it? How much do they pay you? I’ll double it.”

The prefect paused. The question of money had never come into things: either the student population had been too stupid to think of bribing him before, or they’d been smart enough to imagine it wasn’t a good idea and wouldn’t be accepted. 

Gary, however, reached underneath his vest and pulled out a couple of twenties. “This enough to keep you off my back for awhile?”

He looked at the money. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this, and he knew-- and he knew that Gary knew-- and yet here it was-- cold hard cash, looking right at him. 

“Okay, fine. Just don’t expect any special treatment, Smith.” He pocketed the money and straightened himself up. “Get the fuck out of my sight-- go hang out in the library or something, okay?”

It was a compromise. Gary didn’t know whether or not the bribe would be accepted-- but it was worth a try. And it had been-- there was another barrier crossed-- the prefects took bribes. They were just as crooked as everyone else here. Lovely. This most certainly could come in handy in the future.

He gave the prefect a wide grin and slunk out of the cafeteria. The morning was young and had already started so beautifully. A day like this could only get better.

Canvases were like props. You stood behind them and you could pretend you were working, and Jimmy noticed, Ms. Phillips could pretend she was observing other students when she was in fact doing something else. Art was one of the easiest classes to waste time in. He was mystified at Gary’s non-attendance.

He turned to Pete. Pete had looked paler than usual, and was especially quiet at breakfast, having barely said two words over a banana and half an apple. There was nothing on the canvas in front of him.

“Pete,” he whispered softly. “You okay, Pete?”

As though he’d been poked sharply, Pete jolted to life. 

“Yeah, Jimmy, I’m fine.” His voice came out in a rushed gasp. He knew he didn’t sound fine.

“Yeah? Well you don’t sound fine. You’re practically hyperventilating. What’s going on?”

Pete turned to look at Jimmy’s canvas. 

“I can’t get the hang of this Art stuff,” he lied. He looked at Jimmy’s work. “Geez. You’re  _good_.”

“Well, uh, thanks.” Jimmy shrugged. “I’m just sketching Ms. Phillips ‘coz I don’t know what else to do.”

“Well, you’re good.” Pete smiled slightly.

“Hey,” Jimmy said, a quick glance in Ms. Phillips’ direction to see whether she was aware they were talking-- and she didn’t appear to be-- “Where’s Gary? How come he doesn’t come in to Art?”

Pete shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Does he go to  _any_  classes? I never see him around.”

“Well, not many, actually. He got kicked out of a few.”

“Kicked  _out_? And he’s not worried about getting expelled?”

“Nah, apparently his Dad’s some hotshot lawyer. Gary told me that Crabblesnitch owed him a favour and thus everyone turns a blind eye to his misdemeanours.”

“And you suppose Gary was telling the truth?”

“Yeah.” Pete paused. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“I dunno.” Jimmy shrugged, and noticing Ms. Phillips moving away from her own canvas, started making a few strokes with his paintbrush in case she moved towards them. “I don’t know if I completely trust the guy. He seems a little... unbalanced.”

“Yeah, well he’s not that bad, Jimmy. Seriously. He just has a few issues.”

Who was he kidding? A few issues? That was being both polite and dismissive. But he didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t want to shape the new kid’s perception of Gary. Last thing he needed was for Gary to find out and think he was a gossip or something.

“Yeah. I’ll say.”

They were interrupted by a glare from Ms. Phillips, who managed to be both gorgeous and terrifying at the same time. Guys weren’t sure whether they wanted her attention-- she was some fine fantasy material, sure-- but the reality of having her staring at you , as though she could see through the canvas you were meant to be working on-- was frightening. There was something, also, about her poise and composure that managed to make you feel very small and extremely childish in her presence. Pete noticed her looking in their direction and gulped. He shot Jimmy a warning look and pretended to add some lines to his canvas.

 **_Wanna Be A Big Man At Bullworth!_ ** _the message on the noticeboard declared._

 _It was the overuse of capitals, and the grammatical error which had caught Constantinos’ attention, but he continued reading._

 _And as though on cue, he was interrupted. By Gary, of all people-- Gary flicking him on the shoulder._

 _“What’s up, Word Nerd?”_

 _“Fuck off,” Constantinos sniffed, “What the hell do you want now?”_

 _“Nothing. Just seeing what’s grabbed your attention now that I no longer occupy it.”_

 _Constantinos scanned the common room quickly. It was humanely empty, but probably wouldn’t stay that way for long._

 _And what was the appropriate response to that, anyway?_

 _“I seem to recall you telling me that I was obsolete,” Constantinos said coldly, “As though you had something better to do.”_

 _Gary smirked. “I do. His name’s Petey Kowalski.” He sniggered. “He’s an even bigger bitch than you, Con.”_

 _“Go to hell.” He stared back at the noticeboard._

 _“What’s that? The Jocks recruiting, are they? Too bad, hey? Derby told me about your pisspoor efforts in the boxing ring. You really think football would be more up your alley?” His voice was tinged with sarcasm. “Maybe you’d be better being…” Gary read the notice and started laughing. “The_  Mascot _? Oh dear. You know what the Jocks do to the poor sap that gets stuck doing that, don’t you?”_

 _Can’t be anything worse than what you’ve been subjecting me to lately, Constantinos thought to himself._

 _“No, Gary. Tell me. I’m sure it will be enlightening.” He was feigning boredom, but his heart was racing. It had been two weeks since things had taken a turn for the worse with Gary, and he hope he wasn’t giving off bothered vibes. Because… fuck that. Screw Gary Smith-- he was a jerk and an asshole and…_

 _“Ever heard about hazing?” Gary asked nastily._

 _“Oh, go to hell. Even Burton wouldn’t allow that.”_

 _“Well, I know the Mascot gets the shit kicked out of him. Hope you’re good at hiding bruises.”_

 _Someone else had just walked into the room._

 _“Ahh… Petey! Just telling my old friend Con here about the fun and joy and inner harmony that comes with being the school Mascot.”_

 _Pete turned to Constantinos. “Hey,” he said quietly. He looked at Constantinos warily. It was that mistrustful look that nearly all the other kids in the school gave him—that look suggesting that he was one day going crack up and bring a gun into class or something. Constantinos noticed him twitch slightly._

 _  
He ignored both the greeting and Gary’s attempt at getting them in conversation together. It was like he was trying to play them off against one another. He sniffed again, and gave him a long hard glare. “Well, I’ve got to head off,” he said casually, “You know how it goes. Stuff to do, things to write...” He trailed off._

 _“Jocks to kick the living shit out of you.” Gary smirked and then turned to Pete, as though he was including him in this. Constantinos’ loathing for Pete grew even more within that moment._

And now, wearing the heavy, sticky red costume, hanging around to be made mockery of by the Jocks, Constantinos thought about the day he’d been offered the position. It had been down to three contenders-- himself, Thad, and Sheldon. They’d all had one motivating factor for trying out in common-- protection from the Jocks. While the Jocks regarded the Mascot with derision and as some kind of pathetic jester-- and slow-moving punchbag-- they also didn’t take well to anyone helping themselves to the privilege of getting to beat up on him. Beating up the Mascot was a Jock-Only right. And given that Gary wasn’t a Jock, it was in-built protection for Constantinos.

Thad had slightly different motivations: it was painfully obvious that he longed to have some type of brotherly bond with Dan-- though Dan seemed to view Thad as some kind of humiliation-- and behaved all through tryouts as though he didn’t recognise the bespectacled redhead who looked like a clumsier version of himself. Constantinos didn’t get it: how could someone have such little dignity that he wanted his big brother the jock to protect him?

  
Sheldon-- well, he was always sucking up to everyone, and Burton had the final say there-- Sheldon was too little, too young, could try out for Mascot the following year. Constantinos wondered if it were an issue of legality-- one punch to that kid inside that costume could kill him. Burton probably didn’t want a lawsuit on his hands or to face the reality of how brutal the Jocks were to become public knowledge. And everyone knew that they tackled harder, ran faster and kicked more viciously when they had real live victims to practise on, right?

  
He unbuttoned the flap at the back of the costume. He was so skinny that he could slip through that hole-- which was designed for toilet breaks during extra-long games-- and crawled out of it, feeling clammy and sweaty-- and colder now that the evening air was hitting him. Leaving the costume in a heap on the floor, he removed his shorts and singlet and stepped into the shower.

This Mascot gig was craziness. A part of him-- a  _small_  part-- had a sense of pride in what he did. He had a profile within the school, and activity to go onto college applications-- and possibly— _maybe_ \-- respect-- from his fellow students—and that was what helped him withstand the less enjoyable aspects of the role.

He could feel new bruises appearing on his arms and back. Dan and Casey-- who especially enjoyed abusing the Mascot-- had really laid into him this afternoon.

Still, he mused, as he turned on the water and waited for the temperature to normalise-- it sure was better than what he endured from Gary. 

  
Gary stalked along the streets of New Coventry as though it were as much his home as Bullworth Academy. Fearless and shadowy, he fit in there and felt somewhat at home-- the people surrounding him were losers and deadbeats and Gary knew he was far beyond them on all levels-- intelligence and prowess and opportunity. He watched as two homeless men fought over a bottle of wine, their wild voices echoing in the alleyway around them. Everything here looked broken and destitute, and Gary felt a sense of smugness observing everyone else around him.

Having left Petey to Bullworth for the evening, he had free time--  _alone_  time-- to pursue other activities. It wasn’t that Petey didn’t provide him with entertainment-- and other things, of course-- but the last thing he wanted was for Petey-- or anyone else at that stupid school—was to think was that they were some kind of an  _item_  or something. The way Hopkins had eyed the two of them lately seemed a little suspect-- and Gary knew to accomplish what he needed to, he needed Hopkins on side, as part of the plan. Doing anything that could be seen as pushing him away wasn’t a smart move. And being seen as being involved with Pete-- who, come on-- was a total  _dork_ when it came down to it-- would be social suicide. And it would draw attention to him. And Gary liked lurking in the shadows.

So when he’d heard that Jimmy was heading to bed early, and noting Petey sitting contentedly on the couch watching the evening news, he’d headed out of the school grounds. It was easy enough to scale a fence and get out; easy enough to steal a bike from out the front of the gates and go for a ride, but in general, Gary preferred walking. It gave him more time to observe people, to see what the general student population was up to, to stir some shit every now and. Yelling a taunt from the side of the street at a prep riding a bike somewhere and then hiding behind a bush as a group of greasers came into view made for an interesting situation. It was small time amusement, not really part of the greater plan, but it assured Gary that he hadn’t lost his touch with people and could make things happen when he wanted to.

He stopped in at Yum Yum Market, pilfering a can of spray paint from under the front counter while making a big song and dance about choosing the perfect box of chocolates for a special occasion.

“What a thoughtful person you are,” the shopkeeper said with a smile that was all customer service.

 _Pathetic jerk. He doesn’t_ have  _to be nice to me_ , Gary thought to himself, sneaking two more cans of paint under his jacket as he forked over money for the chocolates.

“Are they for a special someone?” 

“They’re for one of my teachers.” A saccharine smile and a choirboy voice was all part of his PR campaign. If everyone thought he was so harmless and lovely and responsible and  _nice_ , all this would happen so much more smoothly. Well, for him at any rate. 

The shopkeeper gave him a knowing look-- if they were for the Art teacher, he knew why. Year after year he’d seen boys come in after Art classes talking about Ms. Phillips. It was so innocent and almost amusing. He smiled at Gary and gave him a wink. “Off you go then-- have a nice night.” 

Poor kid. He’d grow up and realise that it was all just a crush, wouldn’t he? He was such a nice boy, too-- polite and thoroughly decent. Not like those rich little shits who thought they were better than everyone else. 

  
Gary didn’t know what to do with the chocolates when he left the shop. The spray paint, of course, had an obvious use-- but the chocolates didn’t. He could slip them into someone’s locker unexpectedly, he could get Hopkins to deliver them to Lola in front of Johnny-- and watch the ensuing fireworks—or he could leave them around for Mandy and watch her freak out and succumb to temptation-- and then hate herself a bit more. He loved how something as simple and innocent as a box of chocolates could be a weapon in the right hands.  _His_ hands. No one else was  _smart_ enough to know how to  _wield_  a box of chocolates. 

Then there was Pete. He didn’t know if Pete liked chocolates, but he knew that a romantic gesture would probably mess with his head, and might pay off come lights-out.

  
It had been a gradual process with Pete, and that had been what had been so much fun about it all. Pete wasn’t just anyone-- Pete wasn’t Cornelius who everyone  _knew_ was  _that way_ , Pete still tried to maintain some dignity and yet was so easily embarrassed about anything resembling sexuality. There was a challenge with Pete, albeit a not-very-hard one, but still, there was work to be done there. 

He stared down at the ridiculously pink box of chocolates, realising with disappointment that he’d have to head back to school now. It was difficult to remain inconspicuous when you looked like you were trying to woo someone on Valentines’ Day.

“Hey, Jimmy?”

He’d stepped out of his room to use the bathroom, and walking back down the corridor, heard the voice behind him.

“Hey, Pete.” He turned around. “Everything okay?” He looked up the corridor. “Where’s Gary?”

Why the heck was he so interested in Gary? Pete blinked. “I dunno. He went out. Said he had stuff to do.”

“He just comes and goes as he pleases, doesn’t he?” Jimmy looked annoyed. “You’d think he’d have bothered showing me how to get out of this dump.”

Pete shrugged. “It’s pretty boring out there, too. I just spend most of my time avoiding the preps and the greasers when I head out.”

Jimmy shrugged. “Did you want something?”

Pete reached behind him and produced a small box. “I was wondering if you could take this to Beatrice,” he said.

Eyebrows raised, Jimmy couldn’t help but ask the question-- “Who’s Beatrice?” He wanted to ask what the mysterious package was, but couldn’t bring himself to. Maybe Pete had a crush on the girl… which was kind of touching. And if so, he probably didn’t want word getting back to Gary. It would be yet another thing to goad him about. 

“She’s... one of the girls. Has blonde hair and hangs around with the Nerds. You’ll know who she is when you see her-- she’ll probably be hanging around the Girls’ Dorm or the Library.” 

“Uh, okay.” Jimmy looked at the package in his hands and gave Pete a nod before pulling his coat around him and stepping out into the chilly night air. It hadn’t passed curfew yet, but it was getting cold, and he was still mindful of the Bullies who probably wanted to kick his ass after what had gone down with Davis… and with him defending Bucky a few nights ago. 

Figuring the Girls’ Dorm was closer, he decided to head there first.

  
The building was much the same as the Boys’ Dorm from the outside, though its interior remained a mystery. Having checked out most of the rest of the school, Jimmy couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it looked like from inside—probably the same shithole the boys’ dorm was—but there was the potential for it to be  _anything_ , wasn’t there? They might have had gold-plated toilet seats and four-poster beds in there. Just knowing that it was off-limits made him want to check it out-- but noticing a group of little kids sitting by the steps made him stop. Those little kids seemed to tattle about everything, and already having been in trouble with Crabblesnitch, he didn’t feel like getting done for something else so soon after that incident.

Beatrice wasn’t inside, anyway. She stood near a bench by the steps, books in her hands, and wore an expression of bewilderment as she noticed Jimmy approaching her. 

“Hey,” he said casually, “You Beatrice?” He had yet to speak to most of the girls, but seemed to know who they were: Mandy was the skeletal cheerleader; Christy the gossipy redhead; Angie was the friendly one who giggled nervously a lot and seemed to tag along behind those two; Eunice he’d met on his first day, and Lola-- well, he’d barely seen her but already had heard enough about her to fill a telephone directory. By simple deduction, the mousey-haired girl in front of him had to be Beatrice. 

“Yep.” She shuffled one foot in front of the other nervously.

“Pete Kowalski asked me to give this to you.” He handed her the parcel, curious as all hell to see whether she’d open it in front of him-- and was mildly disappointed when she merely put it on top of the pile of books and didn’t do anything with it.

“Thanks, Jimmy.” She smiled at him shyly. 

“Hey, no problem.” 

There was an uncomfortable silence between them, and Jimmy wasn’t sure what to say, or whether he was meant to say anything. And the way Beatrice hung there, as though she might say something-- the way she  _didn’t go back to her reading_ \-- suggested that she wanted to. Even though it was growing closer and closer to curfew. Beatrice hardly seemed the type to break a rule unless it was  _important_.

“So,” Jimmy said, desperately trying to think of something to say, “Pete Kowalski. He a good friend of yours?”

Beatrice looked scandalised. “You mean in…  _that way_?” She giggled and blushed a little. “No, of course not. Pete’s a nice guy and all but I don’t think he’s interested in girls. I think Cornelius has a crush on him.” Her expression changed to one of panic. “But don’t tell him I said that,” she added quickly, “I don’t think anyone’s meant to know. I just overhear things… you know.” She wasn’t quite meeting his eyes and she spoke, and had returned to the foot-shuffling. Jimmy stepped back. She seemed  _incredibly_  self-conscious. 

“But... we study together. He’s nice-- and he’s really smart.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know why he’s always hanging around with that Gary Smith though.”

“You don’t like Gary?” Jimmy kept his tone neutral. He didn’t want her accidentally-- or otherwise-- making statements about his suspicions about Gary, but a little insight into his behaviour could be helpful. To be honest, he couldn’t understand why Pete hung around with him so much, either. Gary didn’t treat him very well-- and Pete always seemed so twitchy around him.

  
“Gary’s not very nice,” she said quietly, “He teases me about my” her voice dropped-- “coldsores.” In a rushed explanation afterwards, she added, “But they only flare up when the weather changes or when I’m under a lot of stress. And I am right now-- Mandy keeps telling me that the jocks are going to sabotage the election.”

“The election?” Jimmy was confused. The sky was darkening and he didn’t really want to stand around all night, though he didn’t have the heart to just walk away.

“The class president election,” Beatrice said, her voice returning to normal, “Haven’t you seen the posters? Earnest is running against Ted-- who has never shown  _any_ interest in student politics before-- and it’s really unfair and horrible.” 

Jimmy shrugged. “I’ve heard it’s all one souped-up popularity contest anyway. And if it makes you feel any better, it’s not like any class president has actually accomplished anything.”

Beatrice looked thoroughly infuriated. “That’s not the  _point_!” she said shrilly. “It’s about the  _principle_  of the thing. Those mean jocks get away with everything at the school and they just take what they want.” Her voice dropped again. “It’s not even that Earnest is that good politically-- he hates public speaking and he dropped out of the debate club-- but he’s at least interested and has good intentions. Those jocks don’t. It’s just another way for them to assert their dominance.” 

Jimmy nodded. It was kind of pathetic, caring about a stupid class election, but part of him softened. You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to tell that the Bullworth social sphere wasn’t kind to Beatrice—what with her coldsores and that hopelessly outdated haircut and the horn-rimmed glasses-- but she seemed like a nice enough person. Like him, she was another outsider in the school.

He nodded. “Yeah, well jocks tend to do that,” he said with a warm smile, “It’s how they over-compensate for their lack of brain cells.”

She giggled and shuffled her feet again. She looked nervous, though slightly happier. 

The little kids had moved from the front steps, and the air around them had grown significantly cooler-- and the sky was close to black. A prefect strolled past, flashlight in hand, glaring at the two of them. 

“Anyway, I’d better go back upstairs. Don’t want to get in trouble-- if I jeopardise my reputation here, I mightn’t get into college.” She smiled again. “Bye, Jimmy. It was nice getting to meet you.”

“Bye.”

“I guess I’ll, er, see you later?”

“Yeah. See you around, Beatrice.”

She turned to walk up the steps and into the dorm. The prefect turned around once more. “Hopkins, I  _hope_  you’re thinking of turning around and heading back to the boy’s dormitory-- where you  _belong_  at this hour,” he snarled.

  
“You read my mind perfectly, sir,” Jimmy said coolly, a sarcastic edge in his voice.

“Good.” 

And because the prefect was heading back towards the boy’s dorms, Jimmy did too.


	3. Chapter 3

It felt colder in the gym than outside-- and it echoed at night time, too Gary noticed. His footsteps had sounded so much louder and more obvious when he was alone like this—of course, he was used to setting foot in the gym amongst the rest of the school, and individual footsteps disappeared into a hurried rush of noise when the place filled up.

He wasn’t used to being in there much at all-- he got all the physical education he needed fighting the townies or running from a surreptitiously-placed Volcano 4000 before anyone could work out who’d done it-- but he noticed the distinct differences after dark.

He stood at the top of the bleachers, watching the empty basketball court for any signs of movement. Dan had said he’d be there at ten. It was ten past, and Gary was growing more and more annoyed. Maybe the stupid jock couldn’t read a watch, but  _he_ could, and he had other matters to be attending to. 

But the door opened, and Dan wandered in, Kirby by his side. As though Dan needed a bodyguard. Gary rolled his eyes, watching as they effortlessly bounded up the stairs.

“So,” he said studying them when they reached him, “Introducing me to your new boyfriend, Wilson?”

Kirby looked at the floor for a split second. “What the fuck do you want, Smith?” he spat. He turned to Dan. “I told you and Ted that you didn’t need to waste time with this asshole.”

“Shut up, Kirby,” Dan said quietly, “Ted said Smith would do it. Easily.”

“Do what?” Gary feigned ignorance so well. “What am I good at, Dan?” He glared at him. “And why’d he send  _you_  in? Afraid his negotiation skills weren’t up to the task?”

Dan looked as though he was pondering that statement.

“Hopkins told me the guy’s failing English,” Gary said softly. “He didn’t have extra study to get do tonight, did he?” He stood up and looked thoughtful. “You know, after we’ve completed this transaction, I could probably help him out with that too if he’d like.” His voice was smooth and confident.

“He doesn’t need your help,” Kirby said defensively. “And you don’t even go to English, so how could you help him?”

“I work in mysterious ways, Kirby,” Gary said, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

Kirby pushed him away viciously. “Go to hell.”

“Will you girls stop arguing?” Dan snapped. He turned back to Gary. “Now, listen, Smith, it’s pretty straightforward. Just make sure the nerd doesn’t win, all right?”

“Well,” Gary drawled, “You lot should be able to deal with that easily enough, shouldn’t you?”

Kirby and Dan stared blankly at Gary. 

“No,” said Kirby, “That’s why we’re here.”

“Geez,” Gary sniffed, “I know everyone says you lot are stupid- but don’t tell me you need help bringing down a  _nerd_? Sheesh.”

They glared at him.  _No one_  insulted the jocks.  _Ever._  But they needed his help, so they restrained themselves. Gary smirked. 

“Listen,” he said softly, “You lot are better equipped to do that,” he said, “Just ruin his campaign speech. I mean, you lot-- and probably the majority of the students who see this as a glorified popularity contest are going to vote for Ted. You guys just need to make sure that everyone who might be slightly undecided-- or who might have nerd sympathies—or who truly believes in the democratic integrity of Bullworth--” he snorted—“is going to see Earnest in all his pathetic glory and not vote for him.” He paced as he spoke, his footsteps echoing on the floor throughout the gym. Dan and Kirby watched, as though transfixed. In all fairness, this guy would probably make a better class president. He seemed to understand the whole political process. Gary stopped suddenly, his great plan revealed. “Comprende?”

“What?” Kirby asked.

“You just need to ruin Earnest’s speech so he can’t even appeal to the sympathy voters.” Gary looked exasperated. “ _Duh_.”

“How do we do that?” Dan asked.

The smile on Gary’s face was patient, though he was growing increasingly frustrated.

“I’ll dumb it down even further for you. Two words: Public humiliation.” He considered it for a moment. “Any of you have any dirt on Earnest?”

“Ted said we can’t say anything fake about him or else he gets disqualified,” Kirby said, clearly annoyed at the ruling.

“Well… either of you know anything true about him?”

“He likes girls,” Dan said enthusiastically, “He’s always looking at Mandy with this creepy sleazoid look on his face. Bet he thinks about her when he whacks off.”

Gary looked pained. “That’s great, but that’s half the school for you. Hell, Burton probably whacks off thinking about banging the head cheerleader. You need something better than that.”

Dan and Kirby stared at one another blankly. 

“Maybe you guys are better not saying anything. Use brute force. You guys are good at that.” He smiled at them. “You’ve seen the hall, right? There are plenty of decent vantage points if you get yourselves some slingshots.”

“Hey, that’s real good.” Dan grinned. “Target practise.”

Gary mussed his flame-red hair and smiled back at him. “Now you’re thinking.”

“Man-- this is gonna be so cool.”

“Hell yeah!” Kirby was looking pleased with the idea too. “But… where do we get slingshots?”

“Go talk to Russell. One of the bullies should be able to set you up.”

“Russell don’t talk so good,” Dan said. “And he gets angry a lot.”

“So? Go see one of the others- Davis or Trent or someone.” Gary shrugged again. 

Dan eyed him suspiciously, and looked at Kirby before looking back at Gary. “What are  _you_  going to do?”

“Simple.” Gary shrugged. “I’ll keep the teachers occupied in the corridor—or the staffroom, so that no one who can do anything about our plan will be able to stop it. Someone’s gotta be security, and if it’s one of you guys, it might look suspicious.”

“Wow,” Dan muttered, “You’ve really thought about this.”

“Thanks, Gary.” Kirby’s voice sounded a lot friendlier. “This is gonna be great.”

“Well… have fun, ladies.”

The hard glare reappeared on Dan’s face, though he suppressed the urge to strike out physically. 

“Hey!” Gary grabbed him roughly by the shoulder as Kirby turned to leave. 

“We haven’t discussed payment options yet.”

“Payment?” Kirby asked. “No one said nothing to me about payment.”

“Oh?” Dan said casually, “Right. That.” He turned to Kirby, “Ted said that if Smith stops the nerd winning, we get Hopkins.”

Gary smiled. “That’s the one. And… since you guys don’t need to be caught- you need to be sneaky about it. Just piss him off a bit. Keep him on his toes.” He paused again, purely for effect. “You know, I’ve heard him saying things about wanting to run this place. I tried telling him that the jocks rule the roost around here, but he isn’t particularly bright and doesn’t really understand that. Maybe you guys need to show him who runs things around here.” 

“We do,” Kirby said aggressively. “ _Us_.”

“Whoa…” Gary stepped back. “I never said you didn’t, because that would be incredibly stupid of me, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah,” added Dan, “ _We_  run things around here.”

Gary grinned again. “You’re on the ball, Dan… maybe you should have thought about running for class prez.”

“But Ted’s already doing that,” he said in utter confusion.

“Oh… right,” Gary drawled, “Forgot about that.” He flashed a smile again. “Anyway, you know what to do- so… get your slingshots and get it sorted, hey?” He watched them turn to leave.

“Thanks, Smith.”

Gary laughed. Watching Kirby and Dan spin around to see what he was laughing at, he paced along the top row of the bleachers. “Yanno, you guys should add a special flourish to your work,” he suggested. “Some stage presence.”

“What, one of us go up on stage while the rest of us are taking aim at Earnest? No way!” Dan looked suspicious. “Those nerd lovers will think it’s hilarious seeing a jock get publicly humiliated. He’ll look worse than Earnest.”

“Yeah,” Gary said, “Good point.” He stroked his chin. “Still… you guys have a mascot, right? What’s the mascot for, anyway?”

“ _Awesome_.” Evidently, Dan wasn’t as stupid as he appeared. His eyes lit up like a prep in Aquaberry at the start of a new season. 

Kirby giggled. “Ted’s gonna love this,” he said with a mischievous smile. “You’re the man, Gary.”

“Thank you.” Gary beamed, then looked at the shorter jock intently. “Just make sure you and your buddies come through on your end of the deal or there’ll be some interesting things said about  _you_.” Even though it was a threat, he sounded so nice about it, as though he were merely offering a practical safety tip.

Kirby’s face screwed up in anger, but he said nothing.

“And unlike in the election, I can say what the hell I want-- true or otherwise-- and no one’s going to disqualify me from squat.”

Kirby looked as though he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to run- or fight. Noticing the discomfort on his friend’s face, Dan spoke up. 

“Chill out, dude-- we’ll deal with that. Hopkins, right? The new kid. Consider it done.” He extended a bony, pale hand to Gary, who looked at it disdainfully. 

“What are you-- some kind of  _fag_?” He sniffed, trying to hide the glimmer in his eyes and the smirk on his lips. He didn’t offer a handshake, rather, he noted a creak echoing through the other side of the gym, as though a door were being opened from the outside—and he started heading downstairs. “Have a nice night, ladies.”

“Hey, Jimmy.”

“Pete. What’s up?” Jimmy looked up from his homework as Pete stepped into his room. He didn’t knock, but he didn’t need to- Jimmy usually left his door open when he was in anyway, and they had an almost-friendship that allowed for that. While Jimmy wondered about Pete’s fascination with his room-- and not his own-- he didn’t question it. He knew Pete shared a room with two jocks and Gary- which was probably enough of an explanation for him spending so much time elsewhere.

“Do you know where Gary is?”

“Nope.” He shrugged. “What’s the big deal with him, anyway? Didn’t you say he usually disappears when he feels like it?”

“Yeah, but he said he’d give me a hand with Shop work.”

Jimmy turned around and looked at him. Pete looked nervous-- and miserable. 

“I’m so nervous about Shop-- I think Neil hates me and I just can’t get the hang of bikes.” He sighed. “Gary usually helps me work it out.”

Jimmy nodded dumbly. The idea of Gary helping anyone seemed odd, but he didn’t argue with Pete.

“It’s so weird,” he continued, “The guy got kicked out of class, yet he knows more than I do. I don’t get how he does it.” He shook his head. “He’s right. I’m a loser.” 

“Hey… I wouldn’t say that.” Jimmy stood up and walked over to Pete, closing the door behind them. “Shop’s not so hard. All Neil really makes us do is pull bikes apart and look at where all the components go-- and then put them back together.”

“Well, Gary likes pulling things apart.” Pete looked every bit as dismal as he had when Gary was giving him crap about watching the swimming on TV.

“It’s not really about that,” Jimmy said-- “It’s more about knowing what each part does and how it all fits together. Kinda like… I dunno… a computer or something.”

Pete looked even more depressed. “I don’t know anything about computers either.”

Jimmy shrugged. “Well, bikes are pretty easy to sort out. Be grateful it’s not a car.” There was a look on his face that suggested that he’d have  _liked_  to have gotten under the bonnet of one of the cars in the auto shop—there was a nice-looking Stallion in there, but he said nothing about it.

“Anyway, what do you wanna know?”

They hadn’t noticed the door open. 

“Watcha want to know, Petey?” Gary sneered. “Is Jimmy here teaching you to make out or something?”

Pete stepped away from Jimmy and away from the desk and turned scarlet. “No,” he mumbled, his eyes on his shoelaces.

“Didn’t hear that, and I hope it wasn’t what I thought it was,” Gary sniffed. “You’ll _never_  get a girl if people think you’ve been playing tonsil-hockey with Hopkins.” He casually turned to Jimmy. 

“No offense, Hopkins. I mean, you’re a nice enough guy if I was into fudge packing, but I’m  _not_.” He snorted. “And the girls already think Petey’s a bit of a bitch and since you’re that new guy who gets beaten up by Davis and  _Trent_ —because you’re out protecting nerds…” He paused dramatically. “Being your bitch, Hopkins-- that’s kind of bottom of the barrel. Even that Eunice girl wouldn’t want to have anything to do with that.” 

“Gary, stop being a jerk.” Pete wasn’t looking at either of them. “Jimmy was trying to help me with my homework.”

“Oooh, and he’s so smart and fantastic and  _I’m_  not any more?” he asked aggressively. “I’m heartbroken, Petey, just shattered.” He tossed his head melodramatically, casting his eyes to the floor as though he were trying to look affected.

“Hey, listen—I actually have homework to do tonight, so if you could go do this somewhere else, I’d really appreciate it,” Jimmy said, exasperated. It was getting late and he  _did_  have work to do. 

“Oooh… and now I’m offending you, too, Hopkins?” His voice was teasing singsong, and Jimmy contained the urge to punch him. 

“Just get out of here,” Jimmy said with a sigh.

“Fine.” Gary turned back to Pete. “You coming along, Petey?” It wasn’t so much of a suggestion but an order, and Jimmy watched, almost stunned, as doglike, Pete followed Gary to the door and out of the room. 

 _Bzzzt._

Constantinos loved the school’s new digital camera. He’d spent the first five minutes he’d had with it just looking through all the various options and settings on it. 

 _Portrait. Timer._

He’d locked himself in a bathroom stall, positioning the camera on top of the toilet, and attempted a self-portrait. Something to go next to his column in the school paper. The only other photographs of him that existed at Bullworth were mascot pictures and that horrible school yearbook shot. Which had been taken a split second too late—as he’d uttered “Why?” at the photographer’s request for him to smile.

But the self-portraits didn’t work. Graffiti on the back of the stall door made the attempts look cheap and kind of stupid. He left the bathroom, ignoring a prefect’s call for assistance, and set out. 

  
 _Night Vision._

It was evening, and strolling through the schoolgrounds as twilight turned into night was almost pleasant. Crows were flying overhead, returning to the thick forested areas beyond the schoolyard, and while there was something slightly menacing about their presence and the symbolism, Constantinos didn’t mind. He liked evenings, and there wasn’t much else to do around here. 

Sure, he could have gone for a wander beyond the school gates, but the last time he’d done that, he’d run into Gary and  _Pete_ , hadn’t he-- and they’d shown up in the most unlikely of places—together, at the fuckin’ carnival, for fuck’s sake. Nowhere was safe. But maybe the schoolgrounds were.

He walked past the central fountain, looking up at the stone statue of Bully, the team’s mascot. He almost smiled at it—in a way, it was like having a statue of himself on the grounds. In all the history of the school, everyone else would leave and be forgotten eventually, but one thing would still remain standing: Bully.  _Him_. In disguise. Unrecognisable but there for everyone to see. Of course, that statue was pelted with eggs and had toilet paper strewn over it every now and then, just as the Mascot got the shit kicked out of him, but it would always be there.

Harrington House was one place he knew he wouldn’t encounter either Gary or Pete. The only things he risked running into were those stupid preps, and they were so damned vain that he knew he could point a camera at them and placate them easily. 

He wasn’t really a photographer, but being a reporter had its perks, like getting to play with new technology. And while he didn’t know much about taking photos, he knew that the best ones were always unposed-- they were photos of people in their natural states, doing things as they normally would, unaware of the camera’s eye on them. 

He slipped down the pathway, walking past a group of preps who were so deeply engaged in conversation that they failed to notice him, and sat in the small grassy courtyard to the left. 

Chester, the bulldog belonging to Chad-- was fast asleep by his kennel. Constantinos looked at him warily, and stepped to the side, getting a good vantage point for photo opportunities. Parker, Bryce and Tad, still discussing the yacht club. He moved to the right. Bif was standing by the entrance to Harrington House, bathed in cold white light from the lamp above him. He seemed to be waiting for something, and was staring vacantly into the night sky. It was the perfect photo opportunity, and Constantinos snapped away with the camera, utilising the night vision option and the zoom. 

The door opened behind him, and Constantinos jerked to attention. Harrington House was strictly a boys’ club-- girls weren’t supposed to be in there any more than boys were supposed to be in the girls’ dormitories-- but there she was, stepping out into the cool greying light-- Pinky. She looked thoroughly pleased with herself, and her cheeks were tinged pink, as though she’d been flirted with—or kissed. Predictably, Derby was next to her, and Constantinos felt a pang of disappointment.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice carrying, “I’m just not that type of girl, Derby. You know what Daddy would say about  _that_.”

What the hell was she talking about? Constantinos had forgotten about the camera, transfixed with Pinky.

“Well, my dear, no one’s saying you have to be that type of girl, are they?” Derby always sounded so fuckin’ smug. Noticing a frisbee at his feet, Constantinos was tempted to pick it up and take aim at his head with it—but Pinky was there. And Pinky didn’t need to see something like that. And anyway, this conversation was interesting.

“ _He_  did.” She pointed accusingly at Bif. “Last week he said things to me that were completely unfit for a lady to hear.” She sounded offended, but there was still a playful ring to her voice. “Anyway, I’m heading back to my room. Where I won’t be surrounded by boys being mean to me.” She flashed a flirtatious smile at both of them.

If anyone else had said something like that, Constantinos would have rolled his eyes. But this was Pinky, and he felt offended on her behalf. He watched as she flounced down the steps, and passed him in the courtyard without even a sideways glance—or recognition—and looked wistfully in the direction she rushed away in.

He wasn’t sure what to do. Sure, he could approach her and ask if she wanted her photo taken-- and of course she would—and he could talk to her about running a feature article about fashion sense—maybe suggesting she model for the accompanying photographs. But what would she do? Most likely laugh in his face and make a snide comment about her parents’ socio-economic status. He turned back to the preps. The small group had disappeared, but Bif and Derby stood by the pillar near the front of the entrance. 

“You need to tell her,” Bif said insistently, “Otherwise she’s going to feel that you’re pressuring her into things and then she’s going to  _partake_  in those things and both your reputations will be destroyed.”

Derby sniffed, shaking his head arrogantly. “How am I supposed to do  _that_?” he asked. “Invite the girl in for a sherry, sit her down and advise her that I have absolutely no interest in anything she’s got down there because I’m quite satisfied rogering your nice little arse when the urge grabs me?”

Constantinos snorted. Derby was intoxicated. It wasn’t immediately obvious from either his voice or his movements, but that statement gave it away, clear as the evening sky. He reached for his camera eagerly. This was  _brilliant._

“Derby, please.” Bif looked worried. “Keep your voice down, man.” He rested a hand on Derby’s shoulder, and Constantinos grinned in anticipation. 

“You’ve been at the supply again, haven’t you?” Bif asked.

“Oh, Pinky and I did enjoy the odd indulgence,” Derby proclaimed, looking utterly unashamed. “I would have enjoyed it more if you had joined me, old chap.”

“We both know I can’t do that,” Bif said seriously, “That stuff shows up in testing after a match and I’m screwed... I’m not getting in trouble for it again.” He turned back to Derby. “Now listen-- you need to go inside and work out what you’re going to say to her. You can’t keep doing this. Eventually she’s going to do  _something_  and I don’t want to see you pay the price.”

Derby wrapped an arm around Bif’s waist. “Nonsense,” he said smugly, “I can do whatever I damn well please.”

Constantinos noticed that Bif made no effort to move away-- which was wonderful, really, because he was getting some fantastically incriminating photographs. 

“Are you  _sure_?” Bif was worried. The intent look in his brown eyes spoke volumes, though he didn’t seem to mind Derby pulling him closer.

“Of course I’m sure,” Derby sniffed, “ _I’m_  a Harrington. We Harringtons can do whatever we like.” He moved in closer to Bif, an arm tightly around his neck, and leaned in to kiss him. 

“Whoa,” Constantinos muttered to himself. The night vision function was proving to be a useful setting. 

He snapped away with the camera, watching as Bif eventually guided Derby back into Harrington House. The courtyard and the entrance were empty, and night had fallen. Somewhere in the distance, a beam of yellow light moved around the schoolground, but Constantinos was hardly aware of it.

He’d been a proper photographer tonight. He’d put aside emotion and subjectivity to accurately capture a moment.

And then there was the wave of sadness. It was completely depressing when you really thought about it. Here was Pinky, involved with Derby, who didn’t appreciate her whatsoever. There she was, destined to live her life as some sort of artificial attachment to him when he was really interested in Bif, who would no doubt go into finance and marry some twit and pretend that Derby was just a good friend he saw a few times a year for yacht club functions and racquet ball or a game of golf.

It really  _was_  that depressing. Then there was an even bleaker undercurrent: what they had was genuine. Derby might have bordered on sociopathic in his level of concern for most people—in fact, he was sometimes like a richer, snottier, and annoyingly WASPy version of Gary-- but he wasn’t treating Bif poorly, and he wasn’t so ashamed of him that he pretended he felt nothing for him, did he? He’d kissed him on the steps of Harrington House.

Constantinos looked down at the camera in his hands. There he’d been, too, thinking about what a great opportunity he’d had in witnessing that. Those photos could be blackmail. He could get money out of Derby and then use that money to buy anonymous presents for Pinky. He could show Pinky the damning evidence and be her shoulder to cry on and maybe she’d take him seriously as both a photographer and a human being.

Or he could do nothing. Switching the camera off, he realised something: they were all bound by fate, and fate was both stupid and cruel and unfair. 

And his photographic skills weren’t going to change any of that.


	4. Chapter 4

“Psst. Jimmy!” Pete was whispering, and looking every bit as nervous as he usually did, but it wasn’t because of Gary hovering over him. 

“What?” Jimmy’s voice was a few shades lower than normal, but he was hardly trying to hide the fact that he was talking in class. It was  _English._  Everyone knew that Galloway didn’t care if you talked in his classes—he viewed classroom chatter as collaboration, and encouraged it.

  
He wasn’t a bad guy. Not much into reading or writing, Jimmy look forward to his classes, but Galloway wasn’t a sadist, and he didn’t try to intimidate people like just about all the other teachers at Bullworth. 

His classroom was just like the subject. Inoffensive and kind of dull. The beige walls offered nothing inspiring or interesting; the desks were worn and faded, and the ancient fluorescent lights overhead hummed as though they were uttering death rattles. Clearly, the Bullworth administration preferred to spend money on other things—sports or Hattrick’s office décor, most likely.

Nonetheless, the classes were bearable, and they offered a good opportunity for discussion. 

“This is for you,” Pete whispered, handing Jimmy a small scrap of lined paper.

“What?” Notes? Who passed notes in English? Galloway didn’t give a shit if people spoke across the room. But Jimmy looked at the piece of paper on his desk and opened it with anticipation.

 _Hi Jimmy. I heard that you were needing some help with Chemistry—I’d be very happy to provide that help if you so desire. Meet me in the girls’ dorms tonight?_

It wasn’t signed.

“Beatrice,” Pete explained in a whisper, “What does she want?”

“Beatrice? But she’s a—“ Jimmy’s voice  _did_  drop down to a whisper- “ _nerd._  Shouldn’t she be doing her work or something?”

Pete gave him a blank look and asked again. “What does she want?”

“She wants to... er, help me study.” He didn’t know what to make of the note. Granted, he had had an  _incident_ in Chemistry involving a small explosion, and Jimmy knew he could have been studying a bit harder—but how did  _Beatrice_ know about it? He’d spoken to her, what,  _once?_  He leaned forward and tried to see what she was doing in the rows ahead of him. Her thin shoulders were hunched in and leaning forwards, and even though he could only see the back of her hair, Jimmy could tell she was hardly moving and clearly engrossed in what she was doing, not writing like most of the other students in the classroom. Reading, most likely. She’d probably  _finished_  her work already.

“Help you study?” Pete’s voice was a little bit louder, and he gave Jimmy a slight smile. “Wow… that might mean… she really likes you or something.”

As if on cue, Beatrice spun around, her face considerably pinker, and smiled nervously at Jimmy before quickly turning around to her book.

He didn’t know what to think.

“Do you want me to pass a note back to her?” Pete asked eagerly.

“Yeah. Okay,” Jimmy said bluntly, quickly scrawling  _O.K_ on the back of the paper and handing it back to Pete.

“She’s really nice,” Petey said, giving Jimmy an encouraging nod. “She’s really good at Chemistry, too. I mean, I was failing last year…and while Gary knows how to make things explode, he doesn’t really know how to do some of the other stuff.”

Jimmy didn’t want to talk about Beatrice—or what Pete might have been implying about her feelings—so he took the opportunity to change the subject.

“How does Gary manage to help you with homework when he’s never in class?” he asked. “I mean, how much does he  _know_?”

Pete looked down at his hands, and his voice dropped back to a whisper again. “He knows what he’s doing, Jimmy,” he said, nodding earnestly. “He’s really smart.” 

“He’s a real asshole,” Jimmy said, looking unimpressed. “How many times this week have I seen him getting stuck into you or ordering you around? If you need help with homework, why aren’t you hanging around with Beatrice?”

Pete didn’t answer for awhile, writing a few lines on the paper in front of him instead. 

“He’s really not a bad guy,” he said. “Sometimes he gets a little extreme, but he’s a good friend.”

“I’ll say,” Jimmy drawled. “Because good friends always go around calling you a loser and a moron.”

“Jimmy,  _you_ call me a loser.” Pete looked hurt. “And here you are saying Gary’s not my friend?”

“I called you a dork, Pete. Once. And… I was just rattling your chain.” He sighed in exasperation. “Do you have to be so serious all the time?”

Pete didn’t say anything, looking both nervous and embarrassed at the same time.

“Pete?”

“Just leave me alone, okay?” His voice was high and panicked. “Just...”

And the bell rang. Jimmy pushed his desk out in front of him roughly, determined to go and find Beatrice and ask her just what the big deal with that note was. 

Pete remained at his desk, though, head in his hands, and an utterly forlorn expression on his face.

The hall was hardly packed, but enough people had shown an interest in the election speeches. Looking down at the rows of empty chairs below him, Jimmy wondered just how often the hall was utilised to its full capacity-— there would have been  _hundreds_ of seats, but most of them were unoccupied. But this worked in Jimmy’s favour.

Bucky and Donald had slipped him what they termed the high-powered slingshot, a nerd invention designed to “keep the peace” at Earnest’s speech. But looking at the crude weapon in his hands as students continued filing in through the doors below, he rolled his eyes. Sure, he’d taken ten bucks from Earnest as his “security officer,” but  _seriously_ —this was a class president election. What could  _really_  go wrong? And why were people so damned emotive about it all?

  
Not only had he heard Beatrice’s woes about the jocks becoming involved, but tensions in the school between the two factions seemed to be rising to the surface as well. Beatrice’s request for him to meet him for  _study_ —whether  _study_  was what she had in mind or something else—had been quickly interrupted as Mandy—head cheerleader and queen bitch in the schoolyard—had stolen the nerd’s Chemistry notes and made off with them. His visit had turned into a search and rescue mission instead. 

Jocks were beating up on the nerds much more frequently, and there had been unquiet rumblings of dissent amongst them. They felt victimised. The attack on Beatrice had gone largely unnoticed thanks to his quick interference, but other events didn’t. Torn posters. Allegations of corruption. The school was tense with rivalry, and even the usually neutral kids were getting drawn into it.

Christy had announced that she was voting for Ted because he was cuter, which had in turn angered Mandy and sent her into an even more highly-strung state than she usually possessed. She ran extra laps around the football field, never appeared in the cafeteria for meals, snapped even more at the other cheerleaders, left bitchy notes on the school notice boards about Beatrice, and reacted violently to outsiders who came near her. Her animosity towards the other girls in the school had grown even more, and she walked around ranting about them and their behaviour, be it Lola’s carefree attitude towards dating several guys at once, or Eunice’s love of chocolates. The only people safe from her tirade were the other jocks, and she clung to them even tighter than usual. Jimmy didn’t care—his encounter with her in the girls’ dormitory-- and a subsequent kick to the nether regions—was enough of a warning sign for him.

Beatrice, in her typically socially-awkward kind of way, had done little more than leaving a note offering to help anyone in the school with Chemistry-- with the exception of Mandy. But other students in the school—the ones who’d previously been uninvolved, took pity on her, whether it was because of Mandy’s attempt at public humiliation or whether they were just tired of the jocks being top of the pecking order at Bullworth. While they hardly rallied around her, she found herself less on the receiving end of nastiness than she ever had since getting to the school. 

Eunice announced to anyone who mentioned the election that she was voting for Ted, and threw her full support behind him. Initially thrilled with having a non-jock advocate, Ted quickly tired of her endorsement after Bo pointed out that she was hardly an advertisement for his campaign. She was even more unpopular than Algernon— and having support from a loser was going to make the undecided kids think the nerds looked cool in comparison. Eventually Ted sent Kirby to do his dirty work for him—to provide her with several boxes of chocolates—and a kiss if necessary—if she could just stay in her room and not talk to anyone about anything. 

The school was divided. It seemed that the kids who were used to being the underdogs leaned towards the nerds, and the kids who valued popularity—or who were generally unharmed by the bullies and the jocks—verged closer to Ted. But there was a small contingent of others—the little kids mostly—who felt that—as Ted’s campaign posters read—a vote for the jock was a kind of status symbol—or had popularity-winning powers. Then there were the ones who—either through blind hope or faith in the system, believed that voting for Earnest could change the balance of power in the school and bring justice and equality to everyone.

  
The doors slammed below Jimmy, and the lights in the auditorium dimmed, leaving the stage the only area well-lit. A rush of “Oooooh” echoed through the crowd as Ted approached the podium to start speaking.

Jimmy hardly listened. Ted’s speech was short and predictable-- “Do you want a  _nerd_ running things around here?—I’ve done more for the school’s football team than that wiener—look at the girls  _we_  get and the girls  _they_  get”—that sort of thing. Instead of watching Ted, Jimmy found himself looking at the audience and trying to gauge their reactions. Hearty cheers from the other jocks, but no one else really. Most of the kids watching looked bored, even though all of them, barring a small handful—had opted for this over regular classes. The nerds had turned up and were there in full force—learning could be suspended when one of your own was making a speech, right? He scanned the crowd. Three notables were missing—Eunice, who he’d heard had been spending more time than usual crying in her room; but who usually turned up to everything going on at Bullworth. Constantinos, who probably had as much faith in democracy as he had in everything else—but who  _should_ have been there given that he was a reporter for the paper; and Gary, who always seemed to be absent from everything. 

He watched as Ted exited the stage to whoops and cheers from the jocks—and polite applause from the others. 

Earnest’s arrival on-stage was met with clapping—but there was something almost optimistic in the sound which differed from the polite applause which had greeted Ted. Watching the crowd below, Jimmy had a sudden pang of hope—maybe Earnest could actually win this thing. And really—the nerds were kind of lame, but they didn’t show off about their superiority. Ted was an asshole.

Earnest cleared his throat and started his speech. He looked terrified. Beatrice had been right—he was a poor public speaker, and the intensity of the light, plus the size of the stage—managed to make him look even smaller and weedier, and clearly defined every pimple on his face. 

Jimmy didn’t notice that Earnest was under attack until the first shot hit him in the leg and he heard Earnest’s shriek—“ _Ow!_ ” interjecting his lines about democracy and fairness and intelligent schooling. 

 _Shit_. Beatrice and Earnest had both been on the ball with their suspicions. Donald had been right in handing him the super slingshot. Frantically looking around at where the shot could have come from, he noticed Casey, standing in one of the wings opposite, clearly taking aim at Earnest with a slingshot of his own. Just how seriously was everyone taking this stupid event?

He pointed the super slingshot at Casey and fired, a grim smile on his face as the jock hit the floor. There was no malice in that shot, but a sense of duty—he was serving as security officer after all.

Composing himself for less than a second, Earnest continued his speech. “Knock it off! Come on!” Random giggles rippled through the crowd and Jimmy saw Bo and Juri standing in the awning above Earnest, their slingshots aimed at his head.

Two quick shots of the slingshot—Jimmy couldn’t be certain that he’d hit them—but he’d sure scared them—and they’d vanished. But he’d hardly thwarted their attempts at ruining Earnest. Ted emerged from the crowd. “Lameoid!”

More giggles, as well as a few groans from the crowd.  _Shit_. Kirby appeared on the right-hand side, slingshot in tow, firing a succession of shots at Earnest.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about! This is preposterous! I’m sick of seeing people like Ted…”

Jimmy had switched off. He was faced with two options—take down Kirby, who was disturbingly accurate, or go after Ted and hopefully cause enough distraction and spook the rest of them. He opted for the latter, chuckling to himself as Ted grabbed his crotch and ran out a side door.

Where the hell were the teachers? Why wasn’t anyone else stopping this? Jimmy’s heart raced with panic. He’d assaulted three of the schools’ top students. If he was caught, he’d be lucky to get a warning—expulsion would be more likely.

But Earnest seemed to be winning the crowd’s trust. There were moments where he could hear cheers from below him, and mumbles of approval which suggested he was being taken seriously.

And then the mascot appeared. On the stage. Right next to Earnest. 

Fortunately, the nerd hadn’t noticed the arrival of the large red bull, and continued reading from his speech cards, but the laughter in the crowd grew stronger.  _Fuck_. The mascot probably wouldn’t notice being hit with a few petty slingshot shots, either—that costume looked pretty tough.

Jimmy pulled back, aimed, and fired hard. The mascot started putting on a show, doing the halftime cow dance. Another shot and he was visibly a lot less active, though his presence remained. Earnest turned around as the mascot feigned charging at him.

“Arrrrgh!” The auditorium was filled with the sounds of laughter. 

 _Fuck._  Jimmy grabbed a particularly large stone and pulled back hard on the slingshot, to the point where he worried it would break, and fired.

The laughter continued as the mascot fell over, as though tripped by invisible wire. He stumbled up, though the weight of the costume seemed to make it difficult—and hobbled off the stage.

 _Crisis averted._  Earnest continued his speech.

  
There was a bang from the door below, and Jimmy heard it creak open. He couldn’t see what was going on, though a quick glance around the wings indicated that the jocks had stepped down and stopped their attack. 

“And... I conclude in saying... a vote for E is a vote for me.” Earnest smiled to the crowd, and seemed shocked at the wild applause he received. God, he was a terrible speech writer, though the crowd didn’t seem bothered by his corny catchphrase. Jimmy wondered if they were impressed with his efforts at maintaining grace under fire.

He stepped back, still nervous and completely unsure of the situation. He’d done the right thing, right?  _He_  felt he had. And he figured if he was facing expulsion over standing up to some bullies, it was probably one of his more noble accomplishments.

He turned behind him and opened the door, hoping to make a hasty escape before anyone found out that he’d been the one on the end of the slingshot, taking down the jocks. Even if he wasn’t expelled, if anyone knew it was him who’d done that, there would be hell to pay. And that hell would only surely get hotter if Earnest won the election, wouldn’t it?

He walked down the corridor, adrenaline still coursing through him. He slid down the railing on the stairs and walked past the cafeteria. Voting was taking place in there, but he wasn’t interested in the process. He hardly knew Earnest, had no desire to see Ted win, and anyway—hadn’t he already done his bit for the democratic process?


	5. Chapter 5

The electoral council sat hunched around the table in the English classroom. It was empty but for them-- the rest of the student body had headed off for the afternoon. Halloween was descending upon Bullworth, and the election coming to a closure that afternoon had diffused much of the tension across the grounds. It was over. Someone had won and someone had lost. Nothing anyone could do now would change matters, and the promise of Halloween celebrations that evening hung over the head of everyone in the school. It was release.

The only students who weren’t in the process of preparing for the night ahead were the newspaper team. They’d been chosen for two simple reasons: they were the only ones with sufficient interest in school affairs, and, the staff had decided, the only ones who could be trusted to count the votes in an unbiased fashion.

The nerds had volunteered for the role, but had been turned down. Dan had hung around the hallways, asking to be allowed to discuss democracy with the group, but had been sent away and warned that any jock presence near the counting would cost Ted the election. 

So it came down to the newspaper team. Constantinos, Justin, Ivan and Gloria sat around the table. Of the other reporters, many had pulled out, most citing personal bias as an influential factor, though Constantinos knew that they really just wanted an excuse to get ready for Halloween. 

“Anyone here vote?” Ivan asked the group. They all looked at him blankly, tired and utterly sick of the entire election.

“Of course.” Gloria was positively perky. “The only way to effect change  _is_ to vote.” She didn’t sound smug. She sounded optimistic, and even though it should have, it didn’t annoy Constantinos.

“I did,” admitted Justin, though he said no more on the matter. The expression on his face suggested that he’d have rather not been there, and the way he kept glancing at the door made it look like he was willing to get out of there as soon as possible. 

Constantinos didn’t say anything. Ivan spoke for him. “Of course  _you_ didn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Wouldn’t you have thought ‘Why bother, what’s the point, we’re all going to die anyway?’”

“Well, that’s the gist of it.” Constantinos looked at the large black ballot box on the table in front of them. For some reason he wasn’t quite sure of, he now didn’t want to admit to standing in line and voting.

“Anyway, you were up there doing your cow dance, weren’t you?” Justin said with a smirk. “Real cute, Con. The crowd loved it.”

“They loved seeing you get knocked down.” Ivan noted.

“Of course they did,” Constantinos sniffed. “Which makes a decent argument for not voting, doesn’t it? Why should I give a shit whether a complete dork runs the school or an all-American jerk gets exalted for a few moments? What difference is it going to make to anyone? The population they’re serving are a bunch of assholes.”

Gloria looked sad. It wasn’t the kind of sadness that came with disappointment or frustration-- it was a look that made Constantinos think of someone grieving. “But you’re the  _Mascot_ ,” she said, “You write for the school paper. Don’t you care?”

“No.” He felt as though he had a spotlight turned on him, and he squirmed in discomfort.

“You know, I couldn’t care less, either,” Justin huffed, frustrated. “And really, I have far more important things I could do rather than sitting around in here. I propose we tally the votes first thing in the morning when we’re far more awake for the task.”

No one disagreed. 

Mr. Galloway, who had been supervising, had left the room earlier stating he’d forgotten something, and had failed to return.

“I suppose we should wait for Mr. Galloway,” Gloria suggested.

“We should,” Ivan said, “But seriously, I’m with him.” He indicated Justin with a nod. “It’s Halloween. Everyone else out there is getting ready. We’ll just come back in the morning.”

Through that informal democratic process, the decision was made.

“Who’s going to lock up?” Justin asked no one in particular, “Shouldn’t the classroom be locked so no one gets at the ballots?”

“Prefects’ll take care of that,” said Constantinos with a shrug. “Who  _cares_?”

They exited the classroom, and headed out into the hallway.

Ted wasn’t pleased. He sat on the stone steps facing the football field, staring venomously into the distance as the caretaker shuffled past lugging a huge pumpkin carved for Halloween night. The rest of the jocks eyed him suspiciously-- they weren’t supposed to be out this late, but they were jocks, and they taunted him—and who liked being a forty-something year-old cleaner who griped to the principal about being picked on by a bunch of  _kids_?

“This is not good, this is not good,” Kirby kept muttering to himself. He sat with his hands tucked under his armpits- he was freezing in the cool air, but didn’t want to suggest going elsewhere. Ted wasn’t in the kind of mood that seemed open to advice.

“We had that election  _nailed_ , and that little prick went and fucked us up,” Ted spat. “Of course it’s not good.”

“Shut the hell up,” Casey muttered to Kirby. He turned to the rest of the group. “What now?”

“I say we smash Jones,” Dan offered.

“Yeah, good thinking,” Damon said sarcastically, “Make us look like a bunch of pussies who care about being beaten by a nerd.”

“Maybe we should just go with what’s happened,” Bo suggested, “Give him hell when he gets sworn in. Make life difficult for him next year?”

“What’s the point?” Ted snapped. “We already look like a bunch of fags—no offence, Kirby.” He paused. “I’m gonna kill that Gary Smith, though.”

As though he’d been listening to the entire conversation-- and he very well might have been, Gary appeared from behind the group. 

“Kill me?” he asked silkily. “And expect to be voted in after that? Really, Thompson, you’re not very good with the public image thing, are you?”

“Well what do you expect him to want to do to you?” Damon asked, “You cost him the election.”

“Hey.” Gary glared at Ted. “You’re saying this is  _my_  fault? You were the moron who couldn’t organise your boys. You had to get  _me_  to come up with the plan, and the way I saw it, it was working just fine. It’s not my fault that someone managed to take you lot down, is it?”

“Where were you?” Casey asked, “Sure as hell didn’t see you up there getting involved.”

“I  _was_ involved, Harris. I was the one who locked the door to the auditorium before the staff came in. And then rolled around, clinging to the staircase, worried that my appendix was bursting to cause mass confusion and therefore allow your end of the plan to take effect.”

“So where’s the bandages?”

“Of course my appendix didn’t burst-- I was buying you time to ruin Earnest’s speech,” Gary said testily, “You lot wouldn’t have been doing your target practise if there’d been teachers in there. Admit it-- I did more for you then anyone else did. Now, you can kill me-- or try to-- or thank me. What’ll it be, boys?”

They stared at him. He knew he’d won, that he was getting out of this. But still, there was the question of whether they’d come good on their end of the deal and keep Hopkins distracted-- which they probably wouldn’t now.  _Shit._

The jocks mumbled amongst themselves.

“Fine,” Ted said, “You did your thing. Your plan was pretty good actually. But don’t expect any help from us with that Hopkins thing.” 

“Hey! That’s not fair.” Gary gave Kirby a small smile as he addressed the group. Kirby blanched. “You told me to make sure the nerd didn’t win. I did my best. But as far as things stand, we don’t know who won. Though I suppose Earnest won a few voters’ confidences out there.”

Bo gave Gary a disgusted look. “ _You_ should have been running in that election,” he said, “You snake.”

“Ouch. You bruise my sensitive little soul with your insults.” Gary gave an expression of mock-rejection.

“Who was counting the votes?” Dan wondered aloud. “I mean, I offered to have a talking to those kids but I didn’t get in there. Didn’t even know who they were.”

“A bunch of losers,” Kirby said dully. “Newspaper people. One of the preps. Little kids. Brakus.”

“I’m sure Brakus is going to be completely non-biased towards the people who beat the living shit out of him on a daily basis,” Gary said, “Did any of you care to mention that to the staff?”

There were mumbles amongst the jocks. Finally, Ted stood up unexpectedly, and walked over to Gary. 

“Listen,” he said, “You don’t fuck with us. You said you’d do something, you didn’t, and now you’re trying to weasel your way out of it—well fuck that.” There was a sizzling fury in his eyes, and his hand jerked forwards, as he pushed Gary against the steel railings. 

“Fuck you,” Gary snarled, spitting on the ground in the direction of Ted’s shoes. 

But Ted’s grip on him was stronger, and Gary struggled against both the jock’s hands and the railings, thrashing forwards, trying to headbutt his way free.

“Listen, you little scumbag, we asked you to fix the election, you fucking fix it.” The rest of the jocks had gathered around them menacingly, no longer affected by the cold air, muscles bared, looking ready for a fight.

“Fine then,” Gary said, “I’ll fix it. Okay? You deal with Hopkins, everyone’s happy.”

“Deal,” Ted said, “Now fix that fucking election.”

  
Gary walked away swiftly. The jocks could be both random and brutal when it came to dishing out punishment for what they deemed deserving behaviour, and he’d overstepped the mark. Still, a bitter rage surged through him. It wasn’t  _his_  fault that the plan had failed—and it had been  _smart_ plan, and here he was, being treated like some kind of lackey, fixing up the mess. Fuck that. He was Gary Smith. People—like Constantinos, like Petey, like Hopkins—did things for  _him._  He had a bigger picture to worry about, not some juvenile student election.

He didn’t quite know how he was going to  _fix_  the election- the damage had already been done, after all, the speeches had been made, and people had voted. And there was every possibility Earnest had won, too… the votes had gone in that afternoon. They’d been counted. By a bunch of losers.

 _Votes._

Brakus. 

This was doable.

At full throttle, he ran towards the boys’ dormitory. He could fix this. Easily.

The nerds were gathered around Jimmy as though he was a god. He sat on the couch in the common room, smiling nervously—he wasn’t used to so much attention after being virtually ignored for so long, and he still hadn’t become accustomed to the eccentric behaviour of the nerds.

“Thankyou, Jimmy.” Earnest, making one of his rare appearances in the public arena, was glowing. “I promise you, friend, there is a place already reserved for you when my regime begins.”

 _Regime? What the_ fuck? Jimmy edged back.

“You can be my  _full time_  security officer. Being in the public eye to the degree I will be—and I  _need_ to be, because I need to interact with my constituents—is going to require security, Jimmy. I want you on the frontline.”

“Well, okay,” Jimmy said, blinking. He looked across at the other nerds.

“We can run Grottos and Gremlins in the gym,” Fatty said enthusiastically, “Throw those stupid jocks out and completely take it over.”

“And get some more womenfolk involved,” Melvin added with a grin at the others, as they nodded in agreement. “I daresay I’m growing somewhat tired of my wenches.” He looked at Jimmy again. “And Jimmy: we’d be most deeply honoured if you were to join us in a quest soon. We can roll up a character for you right now if you so desire.”

“I um…”

 _Hopkins, you slimy little prick._

Gary only overheard him, basking in adoration from those  _nerds_ , but the way they were talking, and he was sucking it up, he knew it was  _his fault_. Jimmy had destroyed his great plan. Jimmy had made him look like an idiot in front of the jocks. Jimmy was responsible for him having to skulk around the school on Halloween night and somehow undo what had happened with the election. 

And Jimmy hadn’t even told him. Selfish little fucker. 

He had half a mind to walk in there, to show that two-faced shithead who was boss and what he had coming to him, but he had other business to attend to. There he’d been, going to that fucking costume shop and  _everything_ , getting a perfectly non-humiliating costume for Hopkins to wear, too. Angrily, he wished he’d grabbed the French maid outfit for Jimmy which had been his first choice. 

But… he wasn’t going to deal with that now. Opening the door to Hopkins’ room, he tossed the coat bags across the bed, then walked down the hallway to Constantinos’ room. Where was he now? In with those greasers. Probably moping away about some pathetically emo injustice… 

He opened the door.

Constantinos wasn’t the only one in there-- Lefty and Lucky were standing by the window, cigarettes in hand, gleefully discussing plans to egg the girls’ dorm and decorate a few landmarks with toilet paper. Constantinos lay on his bed, a book in his hands, and the same unimpressed expression on his face that he usually wore.

“Reading a bedtime story, are you, Con?” Gary’s voice was snide and amused. 

Constantinos nearly jumped with shock. He could try to avoid that son-of-a-bitch as much as possible, but Gary was distressingly good at finding him.

“No,” Constantinos said, a concerted effort in his eyes to remain cool and unaffected by the shock of seeing Gary standing next to him. 

“Porn then, is it?” Gary chuckled. “Indulging in your own sick little fantasies?” He looked down at the bedspread. “Obviously it’s not particularly interesting if you’re not whacking off.”

Constantinos’ face twitched. Gary knew he hated being shown up like that, and that he tried to hide his humiliation. That was what made it  _fun_ , after all. 

“Nietchezke didn’t write porn,” said Constantinos witheringly. He looked at Gary’s face intently, as though he was trying to read it. “What the fuck do you want?”

Gary motioned to the greasers by the window. “Get out of here,” he said abruptly.

“Why?” Lefty asked defensively, “If you wanna talk to him, tell  _him_  to get out of here. We ain’t moving.”

Constantinos put down his book and stood up. “Okay, fine, Gary, where do we go?” he asked, defeated.

Gary smiled broadly. “Shit, Con, these guys got you under their control, too, do they?” he asked. He flicked Constantinos in the chest. “And I bet you just caved right into them, didn’t you?” He gave him a look of mock sympathy and pushed him roughly towards the door. “You bitch.”

“What do you want?” Constantinos asked again. Gary could tell he was nervous. He could feel him twitching underneath his uniform, though he didn’t know whether he was angry, aroused, or terrified.

“We need to talk in private,” he said with a wink. He yanked at his collar and directed him down the hallway. 

The hallway was full of students, most of whom were talking excitedly about plans for Halloween night. There was a buzz in the air, but Gary didn’t give a shit—he had business to attend to. 

Noticing that Jimmy was still in the common room, Gary kicked in Hopkins’ door and dragged a shocked-looking Constantinos in behind him.

“Gary? What the  _hell_?” He stepped away from Gary and eyed him again. “You haven’t taken those pills in awhile, have you?” But Gary didn’t acknowledge that. 

“Listen, you were counting the votes for the election, right?” he asked quickly. There was a distinct note of panic in his voice. But… if the numbers were okay—if somehow the nerds hadn’t won—all this would be sorted out in moments and the Halloween celebrations could begin. 

“Yeah.” He shrugged.

Gary gripped his shoulders tightly, and stared into his face.

“Who won?”

“Why do you care?” Constantinos asked. “You always said it was just some juvenile posturing designed to make people here feel listened to.”

“How philosophical.” Gary rolled his eyes. “Just give me the numbers, shitstain.”

Constantinos stood back. “No.”

Gary smiled nastily. “Well, you remember when you first met Hopkins, right? When he bailed you up in the bathroom while you were filling your piggy little face with those chocolates?” He raised an eyebrow. “I heard Hopkins kicked you in the  _balls_ , man. Fuck knows what he’d do if he found you in his room.”

“What about  _you_?” 

Gary was irritated—Constantinos was holding his ground at a seriously inconvenient time.

“Me? The noble friend trying to convince you to get out of Jimmy’s girlie mags and letters from his family?” He smiled innocently, before the look on his face became hardened again. “Gimme the fucking numbers, Brakus.”

“I can’t.”

“Oh, boo-hoo-hoo, scouts’ honour and all that bullshit—just tell me.”

“I can’t because we didn’t actually count anything.”

“What?” Gary’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “You mean, they grabbed the biggest losers in the entire school to do something as stupid as count some pissy little bits of paper, and you douchebags couldn’t even do  _that_ properly?”

Constantinos shrugged. “We couldn’t be bothered. We decided we’d do it first thing tomorrow morning.”

“So you just left the ballots with Galloway?”

Constantinos shrugged again. “Galloway was probably off drinking,” he said. “We just walked out.”

“You… did?”

“Yeah. Now can I get out of Hopkins’ room and go back to my book?”

Gary flicked him on the shoulder. Hard. “Yeah. Get the fuck outta here.”

Pete was worried. He hadn’t seen Gary at  _all_  today, and there’d been his promise last night of Halloween hijinks. Just  _what_ did Gary want to do tonight? And where the hell was he?

He raced into the boys’ dormitory frantically. Gary hadn’t been taking his medication, either, and while he didn’t hold a lot of stock in that keeping him under control, it seemed even wilder—even more disturbing—to think of Gary  _off_  his meds.

The common room was full of nerds. Jimmy was in there, too, and appeared to be deeply involved in conversation with them. The video game machine by the door had a group of greasers around it, and kids milled around aimlessly, some in costume, awaiting the upcoming fun and merriment. The room crackled with the energy of anticipation. Gary was nowhere to be seen. 

Jimmy’s door was closed, and in sheer desperation, Pete knocked on it. 

“Hopkins?” Gary’s voice yelled from the other side of the door. 

  
What the hell he was doing in there was anyone’s guess, but Pete knew well enough to not bother expecting a logical answer.

“No, Gary, it’s me.” Pete tentatively opened the door.

“Petey!” Gary was lounging on Jimmy’s bed, looking extremely pleased with himself. Evidently, he’d already changed for Halloween.

Pete’s mouth hung open in shock. “What the hell kind of a costume is that?”

Gary chuckled maniacally. “Like it, Pete?”

There mightn’t have been any kind of defining symbolism on it, but it was clear enough that Gary had decided to celebrate Halloween dressed as a nazi. Pete stared at Gary with a mixture of fear and horror, though the last thing he wanted was Gary to know he’d had that effect. “Don’t you think it’s a little... _extreme_?” he asked tentatively. “What are the teachers going to say?”

It wasn’t just the costume, either—Gary looked disturbingly comfortable in it. Gary had always been unnerving and unbalanced, but this was almost—he hated to admit it—terrifying. There was an air of confidence, of madness and malice he exuded. 

“Nothing, most likely.” He smirked. “ You gotta admit, it brings out my best features, doesn’t it?”

“Erm… yeah.” Pete fidgeted with the cuff on his shirt. 

That was the thing about Gary. He was like some kind of illicit substance. Sure, he was dangerous and he could do bad things to you—or make you do bad things to other people, but he had this unflappable confidence. And he looked  _good_. Nothing fazed Gary—and Pete had the sense that when Gary was around, he’d be all right. And then there was the thrill of where he could take you. It was a wild ride—but there was a dangerous buzz of excitement that came with it. Gary was Halloween night, every night of the year.

“I got you one, too.” His voice softened. “I hope you like it.”

Pete didn’t know whether to be worried or grateful. Sure, there was no longer that sting of menace in his voice, and Pete felt a pang of guilt at thinking that Gary had some kind of an ulterior motive.

“Thanks, Gary.”

Gary stretched languidly on the bed. “The things I do for you, Little Petey,” he said with a melodramatic sigh, “and all I get is a measly half-arsed thank you.” He patted the space on the bed next to him. “Come sit down, Petey. Keep me company.”

It wasn’t just company he wanted, and Pete knew that much. But this was crossing over into a new place—up until now, Gary had reserved any kind of intimacy for somewhere private and undisturbed—and dark. And here they were, now, in Jimmy’s room when he could walk in at any moment… 

“Scared, Little Petey?” Gary smirked as Pete gingerly sat down next to him. 

“No...” Pete muttered uncertainly.

Still lying on the bed, and studying Pete with what looked like a fascinated kind of amusement, he let one long finger trail down Pete’s leg.

“Admit it, Petey, you’re terrified.” Gary’s voice turned to a whisper. “Of course you are. You’re terrified because you know how much you want it, and you’re terrified because you don’t really know what it feels like.”

He idly drew his finger up Pete’s leg again, smiling in a self-satisfied kind of way as he did. “I can’t  _wait_ to see you in costume,” he said, “You’re going to look…” he paused, as though trying to find the right word, “Hot.”

Pete tensed. Just what the hell kind of costume had Gary hired for him? Was it going to be just as offensive and provocative as the one he was wearing? What the hell would the rest of the school think if the two of them were walking around the school grounds dressed as nazis on Halloween night?

“Thanks, Gary.”

Gary sat up. “Don’t thank me like  _that_ , he said, grabbing Pete by the shoulders and aggressively pulling him into an embrace. They’d never been this close in a well-lit area before. Pete could smell—practically  _taste¬_ ¬—the aroma of sweat and Aquaberry Homme aftershave on Gary’s neck. His voice dropped down to a possessive, seductive growl. “Thank me properly.”

He had no choice. It was all overpowering—Gary could probably convince the most bigoted, heterosexual homophobe that he was utterly desirable. Pete felt his shoulders go weak as Gary’s lips crushed against his own. He tasted of power. Expensive cologne and this warm, bitter, utterly intoxicating…  _essence._

He kissed him back, tentatively at first, but falling into the motion of what Gary was doing as the rest of him fell weak. It was like that time he’d gotten into the liquor cabinet when he was twelve—he felt limp and malleable and warm and strangely excited. But this was because of another  _person_. Suddenly, he understood there was a definite positive in being involved with Gary’s insanity-- this. 

“I knew you wanted this,” he said, his voice a jagged whisper, “I knew it, Pete...” His hands were moving frantically over Pete’s body, one resting on his neck and pulling him closer, the other snaking its way underneath his shirt, as though he were desperately trying to stake his claim. Never before had Pete felt this…  _awesome_ —this attractive, this…  _wanted_. His fingers toyed limply around the back of Gary’s head, brushing against the short bristles of hair and against the curve of his skull, knocking his hat to the floor. 

Gary didn’t notice. His breathing was quick and heavy, and his kisses grew more and more hurried and intense. The movement of his hands slowed down when he found what he wanted—he tore violently at Pete’s shirt. 

“Ow!” Pete yelped. He pulled back from Gary, his breath coming out in short sharp bursts. “I—I—if you want to—take my shirt off—just—ask me.”

Gary pulled away. “I don’t ask for things, Little Petey,” he said, still smiling. They sat there for a moment, catching their breath.

“Sorry—but you were strangling me. My shirt’s buttoned up.” He shuffled nervously on the bed next to Gary. 

“I’m sure we can fix that,” Gary said. His voice practically  _oozed_ \-- warm, confident and content. 

There was a thump from outside, and Pete sprung off the bed as though he’d been electrocuted. 

“Shit!” Gary stood up, grabbing his hat from the floor. “Hopkins.” He strode over to the wardrobe and grabbed a large black bag. Pete looked at it. It looked ominously as though it could have held a dead body.

“Here,” Gary said, hurriedly thrusting the bag at Pete, “Your costume. You go get changed and meet us back here.” 

Pete nodded dumbly as Gary opened the door. “Don’t take too long,” he said, a teasing ring to his voice, “I can’t wait to see what you look like in that thing.”

  
It hadn’t been Hopkins at the door after all, and that provided Pete with a slight relief. His cheeks still flushed, and a sense of smug, giddy pride racing through him, he lightly walked through a cluster of bullies and nerds. The bang had been a stinkbomb, presumably thrown by one faction towards the other—it had hit Jimmy’s closed door instead. 

 _Gary Smith just kissed me._  He couldn’t stop smiling as he pushed his way through the group of little kids in the foyer area. 

 _And it was so unexpected and perfect and he feels so_  good. Pete looked around him. Did any of the others notice? Did they  _know_? He was a changed man—half an hour ago, he was Pete Kowalski who was going to be the only human being ever to die unloved and unkissed. And now Gary Smith had changed all that.

He stepped into his dorm, noticing that everyone else had left. Gary hadn’t gone back there—he was probably waiting for Jimmy to show up so he could give him his costume. He wondered what Jimmy would get to wear. It probably depended on what sort of mood Gary had been in when he’d been in the costume shop.

He walked to his bed, wondering if tonight Gary would join him. And maybe they could… kiss some more? He smiled at the thought. Gary had occasionally run a hand down his back or over his shoulders, but nothing like this, and nothing nearly as  _brazen._  Gary was practically a  _god_. Gary could just  _do these things._  

He looked at the bed in a new light. It looked so shabby and pathetic. Kind of sad, really. He self-consciously pulled the covers up properly, tucked in the sheets, and fluffed the pillows. 

Then he looked down at the bag in his hands: oh, right: the costume. 

Carefully unzipping it, wondering just what Gary had chosen out for him- and wanted to see him in- he stuck his hand into the bag and felt…  _fur._

Pulling the bag back in confusion, Pete gasped at the horror. It was pink. It was… a _rabbit._

He’d overheard Christie telling Angie that Ms. Phillips used to work in a bar where she wore a bunny costume, but looking at this bunny, he assumed this was something entirely different. It was like little kids’ pyjamas. It wasn’t  _hot_ , it was positively—or negatively, depending on how you looked at it-- juvenile. Even the little kids were going to laugh at him. Russell would probably stuff him in a locker, though, and then he’d have a viable excuse for not being seen all night. 

He gulped as he unzipped the costume. 

 _Why, Gary?_


	6. Chapter 6

Constantinos paced along the footpath, bored. Halloween had failed to affect him, and the jack o’ lanterns gracing the pathways did little to lift his mood. Once again, Halloween was another aspect of life that he didn’t completely understand or harbour any desire to be a part of. But he was a reporter. A photographer. There’d have to be a write up in the paper about it.

He looked at the camera in his hands, flicking through the photos he’d taken earlier in the week. Some of them would go well with articles. There was one of Bif which looked like a proper celebrity glamour shot. He wasn’t posing or putting on airs, nor had he adopted an aggressive stance as though he was trying to be the Next Big Thing in boxing. He looked striking and wistful—and not that Constantinos wanted to admit to it—intelligent. 

The photos which followed made him uncomfortable. Bif and Derby leaning in towards one another, Derby smiling easily and openly as Bif steadied him, Bif’s protective gaze on Derby . Derby’s eyes alight with sheer exuberance and triumph as he leaned in to kiss the redhead. 

Sure, he could have used the photos for his own means. He could have written an article discussing scandals amongst the well-to-do at Bullworth, or a deep and meaningful thing about being young and gay in today’s conservative climate, knowing full well no one would pay attention to the text if a photo like  _that_ accompanied it. He could have printed the photos up and left them around for Christy to find, suspecting that her take on events would blow them way out of proportion—a kiss could turn into an undying declaration of love. But…  _no_. It wasn’t  _right._  

He saved the photos which had useable qualities, and deleted the rest, his gaze lingering long and hard on the expression on Derby ’s face in one of the last shots before they were gone forever.

  
He had nothing to do. Everyone else was busy—the little kids were being amused with a marginally scary movie in the auditorium, so the teachers were out of operation; the prefects had disappeared to the Vale for a party, and the rest of the student population was bounding around, zoolike, many of them in ridiculous costume. It was all kind of pathetic and  _sad_ , really—there was absolutely no point at all in the night. Was this celebration? What the hell warranted celebration anyway?

  
He opened the door to the boys’ dorm, kicking at a pumpkin inside the door. Who put these things around anyway? Why bother? They just got smashed up. The dangling feet of a paper skeleton brushed against the side of his face as he walked past, annoyed. Another waste of effort: those decorations would be torn down faster than you could say “Trick or treat.”

  
“Hey! Bunny boy!” Russell ran down the hallway at full pelt, having noticed the hapless sap in the pink bunny costume at the water fountain. Constantinos looked up. Who the hell would wear something like  _that_ at Bullworth? What guy was so pathetic that… then he realised who it was. 

 _Pete_. Constantinos couldn’t help but feel slightly amused—had  _Gary_ talked him into that? He smirked, watching as Russell, in one quick movement, stuffed the shorter boy into the trash can opposite. 

  
Pete looked really pathetic—for a few moments, anyway. No sooner had Constantinos grinned at his misfortune than Gary had arrived on the scene, somehow imposing and scary—though the S.S. officer costume helped there—and wrenched him out and onto his feet. 

Hopkins was hanging around, wearing a glow-in-the-dark skeleton outfit. He was starting to get a reputation for himself—as some kind of enforcer or protector of the innocent-- though Gary seemed to be the one running the show at the moment. Jimmy appeared to be in a good mood, though, as though his confidence had been amplified by either the costume or the general chaos of Halloween. It was all meant to be in good fun,  _right?_

But there was something in seeing Gary — _Smith_ —psychopathic cretin that he was, reaching down to free Pete from the trash, which was almost  _kind_. What the hell? Gary wasn’t kind to anyone. 

Dejected, and wishing he hadn’t seen that, Constantinos walked through to his room. 

It had been trashed. Someone had left a foot-tall pile of shaving foam on his pillow, and the gooey remnants of eggs clung to the walls and slipped down to the floor. Probably the preps had been in here, targeting a room where there were greasers-- Lefty and Lucky were two of his roommates.  _Still,_  he thought bitterly as he scooped the foam from the pillow,  _why me?_  

  
 _“Ever picked one of these suckers?”_

 _Constantinos looked behind him. A simple trip to his locker to get his Chemistry books had now turned into an interrogation about illegal activities?_

 _Gary stood there, moving in next to him, an arm over his shoulder._

 _“Lemme guess, you’re gonna lock me in here? Like that never happens to me?”_

 _The smile on Gary ’s face dimmed. Had he been considering it?_

 _“Go on then,” Constantinos offered, “I won’t even put up a fight. Just shove me in the locker, close the door, spin the dial. Like putting me in an upright coffin, isn’t it? I like to pretend that I’m being thrown into a cryogenic chamber and when I get out this place will be gone and the world will be purged of the evil known as this school.” His voice was completely deadpan and uninterested. He stepped aside. “Go on.”_

 _“Constantinos… as always, you’re a barrel of fun and optimism.” Gary stepped back, as though surprised. “And, no—I wasn’t going to stuff you in a locker. That’s pretty lame. I was_ asking  _if you knew how to pick locks.”_

 _A cheeky sparkle had come into Gary ’s eyes._

 _“Why would I want to do that?” Constantinos asked._

 _“Duh.” Gary looked stunned. “To steal stuff, of course.”_

 _“Why would anyone here have anything worth stealing?” The idea of lockpicking hadn’t occurred to Constantinos, but he couldn’t help but smile slightly at the concept._

 _“Sometimes they do,” Gary said casually. “It’s a great way to learn things about people, too. Ever gone through someone’s personal artifacts and learned things about them?”_

 _Constantinos stared blankly at Gary . “No.”_

 _“Man!” Gary exclaimed, “You’re the one calling yourself a reporter, and you don’t know anything!” He leaned in closer to Constantinos. “You miss all the good stuff, dude. Mandy—now her locker is filled with boring pictures of skeletal fashion models. Algie? He harbours a desire for blondes with little clothing. Donald? Has this_ manifesto _, dude, about what Armageddon is going to look like when it rains down upon us here.” He paused. “And Gordon… dude… even_ I _don’t wanna know what goes through his twisted little mind.”_

 _Constantinos couldn’t hide his look of interest. Gary smirked again before getting back to the subject. “Now, we have an advantage doing this together, too… we work as a team. Which means I pick the lock, you keep an eye out for prefects, and if you see some other kid doing anything suspicious, you go snitch on them. Meaning I can work the lock unhindered while their attention is directed elsewhere.”_

 _“Geez, you’ve really thought about this.”_

 _“No, I just get better with practise. I see_ opportunity _, Con.”_

 _He stepped back as a prefect walked past._

 _Constantinos wasn’t sure what to think. Gary was unbalanced—but brilliant at the same time. And they seemed to have a common interest, at least._

 _Gary was like a ninja. He seemed to have an innate awareness of everything going on around him, and knew how to look completely benign when an authority figure appeared in view. No sooner had the prefect turned around a corner, then Gary had slammed the locker shut and turned back to Constantinos. “Where do you want to go first?”_

 _“You’re asking me? You’re the expert.” Did Constantinos have a look of amazement on his face? Probably. Gary was the first person he’d met in this whole stupid school who seemed to have powers and an understanding of the universe beyond any of the boring crap they taught in class or any of the stupid topics kids discussed. Gary had_ It.  _Even though Constantinos wasn’t sure exactly what It was._

 _Gary beamed. “Ahh... it’s nice to have a pupil who is enthusiastic about the process of gaining information,” he said, lightly patting Constantinos on the shoulder. “C’mon, you have Biology, right?”_

 _Constantinos nodded. “Yeah.”_

 _Gary cackled. “Not any more, you don’t. The curriculum has just changed, my friend. Come on…” And he motioned towards the staircase. Constantinos followed without consideration._

 

“Let’s have some  _fun_ ,” Gary said with a sneer. “Look at all these lame-os out here… they’re just begging to be pranked.” He threw an arm around Pete’s shoulders and squeezed him tightly. “Whaddaya say, Little Petey?”

“Okay.” He didn’t sound particularly enthused by the idea.

“Yeah, come on,” said Jimmy. His eyes followed groups of students around the grounds. “Where do we start?”

“Well we  _could_ …” Gary started, but they were interrupted by a whiny voice behind them.

“Excuse me, sir…” 

Jimmy looked up. “Yeah?”

“Could you please stick this on someone?” A sign bearing the words  **Kick Me** was handed to him.

Pedro was maybe four foot at the most, and Jimmy wasn’t sure whether he’d fallen victim to a prank involving toilet paper, or if he’d dressed for Halloween as a mummy. Either way, he looked kind of pitiful. He’d torn the sign from his back and was desperate to get rid of it somehow.

“Sure.” Jimmy shrugged and slapped the sign onto a passer-by, watching as a bunch of kids gathered around and began following the sign’s instructions.

Gary cackled. 

“Thank you.” Pedro shuffled off with a group of little kids who’d somehow gotten out of the movie night. They scurried away quickly, probably scared of the bigger kids—or getting caught by any roving authority figures.

Jimmy nodded. “Okay, what next?”

“Let’s go  _egg_ some people,” Gary said with enthusiasm, “Eggs are  _always_  good.”

Pete looked around the school grounds. Sure, there were no prefects around, as everyone knew, and there was no risk of them getting in trouble for anything, but he was worried that Gary wasn’t going to stop at eggs. There was something in his eyes that was far too wild and maniacal—and  _scary_ tonight, a kind of urgency he couldn’t put his finger on. And here he was, walking around in a bright pink bunny costume, looking even sadder than most of the nerds—while Gary stood out on shock value alone. People pointed and laughed at Pete, then noticed Gary and quickly turned away.

“Eggs could be fun.” Jimmy seemed interested in the plan. 1Was Gary having influence over him, too? Pete shuddered. What next? Was Jimmy going to turn into another jerk in an SS uniform, or was…

He sat down on a bench as the two of them hurried ahead.

 _Shit. No._

Was that what all this was about, this was Gary ’s great plan to leave him and humiliate him, replace him with Jimmy Hopkins?

It all made a horrible, cruel kind of sense. The kiss. The bunny costume. Gary’s new exuberance for life. 

“Loser!” Melvin, dressed in a hideously green Grottos and Gremlins costume, walked past, pointing and laughing.

“And they told me SuperThad was a bad idea!” Thad yelled. He seemed far too amused at not being the biggest loser in the costume department.

“Come on, Little Petey, you haven’t chickened out, have you?” Gary had reappeared by his side. “It’s Halloween. You can’t just sit around being your usual dorky self  _tonight._ ”

“I… don’t want to get into trouble,” Pete replied lamely, knowing full well that it was a poor excuse and that Gary wouldn’t buy it. He felt defeated, and way too tired and hurt to bother fighting much. 

Gary put an arm around his shoulder and squeezed. Was it a power display, was it affection, did it mean anything…? Pete no longer knew, but a part of him wanted to remember how it felt, because he suspected it might be the last time Gary touched him like that at all.

“I don’t want to get into trouble,” Gary mimicked. He flicked the whip in his hand out at Pete’s face. “That’s an utterly pathetic excuse,” he said. “Now, Hopkins is egging some kids, and I have plans for us.”

“Gary, maybe I should just go back to the dorms. Get some sleep, you know.”

“Geez, Pete, what’s going to become of you when you get to college? Will you do this all the time there? ‘I can’t come out tonight for that orgy because my name’s Petey and I’m a little bitch who outright refuses to have a good time’ or something?” He flicked the whip closer to Pete’s face again, stinging the tip of his nose. Pete rubbed it furiously while Gary smirked. 

Jimmy appeared from the side of the school building. “Hey, Gary, they left the doors open over here,” he said, “Didn’t you say you were looking for a way into the school?”

Gary’s eyes sparkled. “Excellent!” he declared, “I have  _the_ prank that is going to put the rest of the evening to shame.” He threw an arm around Jimmy, as though they were good buddies, old friends, all the rest of it. Pete’s face stung with jealousy. He was completely on his way out tonight. 

“Come on—I’ll tell you about it when we get to the prep’s area… this is gonna be  _excellent_.”

But Pete couldn’t find it in his heart for  _excellent_. He wanted Halloween  _over._

  
Constantinos liked how empty the dorm was. Everyone else was downstairs engaged in age-old rivalry or the time-honoured tradition of pranking—it was the one night of the year when jocks could beat up on nerds and preps could throw punches and eggs at the greasers and everyone turned a blind eye because it was all in the name of something greater than rules and laws and social standing: Halloween.

Though, wasn’t that pretty much how Bullworth worked anyway? All that boys-will-be-boys crap that allowed people to behave like complete assholes? Which practically encouraged it?

He’d left his room and the depressing state it was in. Surely there was an advantage to being one of the few kids not celebrating, and that was that he had free reign of the place and could indulge his kleptomanic urges. But even the idea of stealing stuff didn’t completely appeal to him. Having seen Pete and Gary earlier in the evening—and knowing that they shared a room—and god knew what else—had been a melancholy-inducing slap in the face. 

So it was only fitting that he paid their empty dwelling a visit.

  
He didn’t like to admit it, but he was curious. The room was a mess which was unsurprising—when Gary had been  _his_ roommate, Constantinos recalled that he’d generally been the one keeping things tidy. Not because he was particularly neat anyway, but because Gary expected it. 

He sighed. It was easy enough to pick which beds belonged to whom—the surrounding posters and items of clothing gave away what the bedclothes didn’t. Gary ’s bed was near the corner of the room, with the same austere grey pillows and sheets he’d had when they shared a room. Pete’s bed was obviously the only made bed in the room, with the dusty floral patterns on the covers. 

It looked so  _tidy_ and  _quaint_ that he had a sudden urge to ruffle it. And since no one was in the room, and his own bed had been covered in shaving foam—why  _not_? Tentatively, still worried he’d be caught, Constantinos sat on the end of the bed, satisfied with the creases he was leaving in the covers. But part of him felt strangely intrusive, like he was seriously invading something personal and private.

 _Good_ , he thought angrily, as he lay down on his stomach and rifled through the bedside table.

Petey had absolutely  _nothing_  of interest. Nothing that could be used as blackmail, nothing incriminating—a stack of very new-looking books-- standard English texts; a well-thumbed copy of  _Bikes for Dummies_ ; a small framed photograph of him and his parents with countryside in the background; his school identity card, and a few wilted carnival game tickets. That was it. 

Constantinos rested his head against the bed. Why the hell was in here? Why was he doing this to himself?

Then came a disturbing realisation. Gary was here. He lifted his head up and his eyes darted, terrified, towards the door. The room was empty. But he could feel Gary ’s presence, smell him on the very bedsheets that he was lying on, that tang of sweat mingled with the expensive cologne they’d stolen from Gord Vendome’s locker.

Flashes of disjointed memories surged through his brain like a disturbing music video. 

 

  
 _“...You like that, don’t you?” Gary’s hand on his throat, flicking his face upwards so he was forced to look into those hard brown eyes. Gary’s lips against his neck, like he was some kind of demented vampire, sucking the very life out of him..._

 _“...Didn’t know you had it in you, Constantinos.” That smirk and that cackle, that triumphant grin as Gary pulled away. “You really want to kiss me, don’t you, Con? You think I’m gonna like it? Think it’s gonna make me scream? Think you’re gonna rock my world, do you?”_

 _...Gary’s arm around his neck, his warmth, breath and voice in Constantinos’ ear. “Say you love me, Constantinos... Say it..._ Say it! _” And his own voice echoing in his memory, disjointed and vacant. “Why?”  
_

 _“Because you do.” Gary’s laughter. “You can’t fool me, Writer Boy...”_

 _...Gary pushing him against the wall, pinning his arms to his sides, his breath heavy and warm and everywhere. The debate. Constantinos struggling against him, helpless, flailing like a fish wrenched from the water, flapping about, unsure of escape.  
_

 _“You think I’m some kind of a _fag_?”  
_

 _Gary’s confident sneer. “No, Constantinos.” One hand cupping his chin almost tenderly.  
_

 _"_ Everyone  _is bisexual nowadays.”  
_

 

 _Constantinos’ own look of bewilderment and terror at that statement, and Gary’s other hand trailing across the top of his pants. “It’s only_ gay  _if you haven’t done it with a girl. And please don’t tell me you haven’t had sex with a girl before.”_

  
And then, a more recent memory—this evening, Gary grabbing Pete’s hands and pulling him, disturbing pink bunny suit and all—from the trash can near the water fountain. 

Constantinos sniffed. He hadn’t really noticed the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, and he hadn’t cried about anything in as long as he could remember. There were times he’d seen other kids crying, and wondered what the big deal was—and if he _knew,_  a more alarming thought occurred to him: what if he  _couldn’t_ cry? What if some integral human part of him was missing? Had Gary taken it? Probably not, but Gary had dulled the realisation and made him forget for awhile, Gary hadn’t quite filled a void but pasted over it and made things that much more bearable.

And here he was now, alone, crying on Pete’s bed, looking through his stuff, and understanding for the first time ever, really—that Gary was  _gone_. Gary was no more in his life than a ghost; there was nothing more tangible left of him than the scent on the bedsheet and the memories in his brain.

Who  _was_ Gary now?

Angrily wiping away more tears, Constantinos walked over to Gary ’s crumpled bed. He knew he could lie there, absorb himself in a far more intense and  _real_ experience of him… but  _no_. He looked at Gary’s bedside table—an aerosol can of spraypaint, a half-empty glass of water that looked like it had been sitting there for awhile, a partially-consumed box of chocolates (had  _Petey_  given them to him?), bottle upon bottle of pills. He ran a finger over the dot-matrix pharmacy type on the label on one of them.  _Gary Smith. Apraxazolam._

 _WARNING! Use of this medication may impair your ability to drive or operate heavy machinery._

 _DO NOT consume with alcohol._

 _**DO NOT take more than the prescribed dose.** _

  
Gary’s voice still lingering in the back of his brain. 

 __

_“You know, I’m a veritable cocktail, Constantinos… shake me and I’ll rattle. And this shit here? They asked if I had_ suicidal tendencies  _before prescribing it. Of course I don’t. I mean, how_ stupid _are they? They really thought I’d want to do something as dumb as off myself? Come_ on _. I’m having too much fun for that.”_

 

Still sniffing, wiping away more tears, Constantinos stared at the bottle.

There was never going to be any escape from this. Gary was locked into his brain, a memory that wouldn’t shake itself away, something to haunt him for the rest of his life. 

However long that would be. 

He gulped. From somewhere outside, he heard a scream, violent and enraged—then the shatter of a stinkbomb against brick. This was all pathetic. The scream should have woken him up, brought him back to the now of the situation—it was Halloween night and everyone else was out there having fun, he himself was meant to be taking photographs for the newspaper-- and here he was, pining like some pathetic wretch over the greatest—and worst-- thing that had ever happened to him: 

Gary Smith. 

 __

 _“What’s wrong with you? Gonna slit your wrists, are you?”_

He opened the bottle angrily, shaking its contents into his hand. The white ovals stared back at him. Maybe Gary would notice his pills were missing, but more likely, he wouldn’t. Gary probably wouldn’t notice  _his_ absence, either. 

He wondered if  _anyone_ would notice. The newspaper team might, after awhile, but it was hardly like anyone read the fucking paper anyway. And, sure, the jocks would, but they’d only notice because their bait was missing. It was a bitter fuck-you to the jocks, doing this, wasn’t it? And far more annoying than one stupid vote for Earnest would ever be. 

  
Halloween, he knew, was the night people connected with the spirits, with the dead, where the line between the world of the living and the afterlife—if there even was one—was blurred. It was like standing on the edge.

He clapped his hand to his mouth, the bitter chemical taste of the pills making him feel ill. Grabbing the glass of water, he gulped, the metallic, bitter taste of chemical still lingering in his mouth. He stepped out and into the corridor, walked to the water fountain, and drank from it.

It was late. The candle in the partially-smashed Jack o’lantern had melted away and the glow emanating from it had died down, the decorations in the corridor had been torn, and silly string was spewed down the walls and onto the floor like entrails. There was something even more morbid at the  _end_ of Halloween than there was during the festivities. 

  
The door was flung open. Who should be standing there but Gary? Flanked by Pete—Jimmy had obviously headed off to do something else—his smile was wide and his excitement clearly visible.

“Off to bed, Petey,” Gary said, amused, flicking at Pete with the whip in his hand. He noticed Constantinos step away from the fountain as Pete walked forwards, still looking nervous and humiliated, but more relieved with every step towards his own room. 

“What, dare I ask, are  _you_ looking at?” Gary didn’t sound angry. He sounded alive and cheeky. He flicked the whip playfully at Constantinos’ shoulder, smiling into his doleful expression. “Missing me, are you?”

Constantinos said nothing.

“And... no costume? Geez. You have no imagination, do you, Constantinos? That can’t be much good for a writer.”

He still said nothing, and felt a spiralling sense of weirdness as the effect of the pills began kicking in. 

“God, you’re pathetic.” Gary flicked the whip at him again. There was no teasing lilt to his voice. It was a gesture of irritation or disgust. Constantinos gave him a sad smile, and felt for the first time, he’d won. He had the upper hand now. The knowledge of that almost made him start crying again. He didn’t want the upper hand. He wanted  _Gary_. But he refused to cry, and in spite of the swirling numbness coursing through him, he still wanted to look in control and unaffected. Because anything else would just give Gary ’s words some truth.

  
“Goodnight, Gary.” He gave him one last look before heading back to his room, his legs now feeling weak and annoyingly heavy. He could make it. Get to his room, and go to sleep. Permanently.

“Hey!” Gary yelled from down the hallway, spinning around to watch Constantinos shuffle away, “Cheer the fuck up, man! Life ain’t so bad!”


End file.
